Joyce Kilmer

“ IV On nights like this the huddled sheep — I never saw a night so fair. How huge the sky is, and how deep! And how the planets flash and glare! At dawn beside my drowsy flock What winged music I have heard! But now the clouds with singing rock As if the sky were turning bird. O blinding Light, O blinding Light! Burn through my heart with sweetest pain. O flaming Song, most loudly bright, Consume away my deadly stain! V The stable glows against the sky, And who are these that throng the way? My three old comrades hasten by And shining angels kneel and pray. ”

“ Through flying lead and crimson steel They plunged for Freedom and the Right. May we, their grateful children, learn Their strength, who lie beneath this sod, Who went through fire and death to earn At last the accolade of God. In shining rank on rank arrayed They march, the legions of the Lord; He is their Captain unafraid, The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.
The Rosary Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings Shall all men praise the Master of all song. Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long; And skilled must be the laureates of kings. ”

“ If I should live in a forest And sleep underneath a tree, No grove of impudent saplings Would make a home for me. I'd go where the old oaks gather, Serene and good and strong, And they would not sigh and tremble And vex me with a song. The pleasantest sort of poet Is the poet who's old and wise, With an old white beard and wrinkles About his kind old eyes. For these young flippertigibbets A-rhyming their hours away They won't be still like honest men And listen to what you say. The young poet screams forever About his sex and his soul ”

“ What Love commands the train fulfills, And beautiful upon the hills Are these our feet of burnished steel. Subtly and certainly I feel That Glen Rock welcomes us to her And silent Ridgewood seems to stir And smile, because she knows the train Has brought her children back again. We carry people home — and so God speeds us, wheresoe'er we go. Hohokus, Waldwick, Allendale Lift sleepy heads to give us hail. In Ramsey, Mahwah, Suffern stand Houses that wistfully demand A father — son — some human thing That this, the midnight train, may bring. ”

“ I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things; That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings. I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do; For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass, And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass. It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied; But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside. ”

“ Within the Jersey City shed The engine coughs and shakes its head, The smoke, a plume of red and white, Waves madly in the face of night. And now the grave incurious stars Gleam on the groaning hurrying cars. Against the kind and awful reign Of darkness, this our angry train, A noisy little rebel, pouts Its brief defiance, flames and shouts — And passes on, and leaves no trace. For darkness holds its ancient place, Serene and absolute, the king Unchanged, of every living thing. ”

“ Serene, unchanging, ever fair, I smile with secret mirth And in a net of mine own hair I swing the captive earth.
Poets Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have not tasted death. They only sing who are struck dumb by God. ”

“ VI O Whiteness, whiter than the fleece Of new-washed sheep on April sod! O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace, O Lamb of God, O Lamb of God!
Easter The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings.
Mount Houvenkopf Serene he stands, with mist serenely crowned, And draws a cloak of trees about his breast. The thunder roars but cannot break his rest And from his rugged face the tempests bound. ”

“ O king of realms of endless joy, My own, my golden grocer's boy, I am a princess forced to dwell Within a lonely kitchen cell, While you go dashing through the land With loveliness on every hand. Your whistle strikes my eager ears Like music of the choiring spheres. The mighty earth grows faint and reels Beneath your thundering wagon wheels. How keenly, perilously sweet To cling upon that swaying seat! How happy she who by your side May share the splendors of that ride! ”

“ A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Stars (For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.) Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air, Are you errant strands of Lady Mary's hair? As she slits the cloudy veil and bends down through, Do you fall across her cheeks and over heaven too? Gay stars, little stars, you are little eyes, Eyes of baby angels playing in the skies. ”

“ Because of you, it is believed That all who earn their bread by rhyme Are like yourselves, exuding slime. Oh, cease to write, for very shame, Ere all men spit upon our name! Take up your needles, drop your pen, And leave the poet's craft to men! ”

“ Yes, God forgives and men forget, And you're forgiven and forgotten. You might be gaily sinning yet And quick and fresh instead of rotten. And when you think of love and fame And all that might have come to pass, Then don't you feel a little shame? ”

“ Christ's Troop, Mary's Guard, God's own men, Draw your swords and strike at Hell and strike again. Every steel-born spark that flies where God's battles are, Flashes past the face of God, and is a star. ”

“ Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door, Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store. But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone For the lack of something within it that it has never known. ”

“ In every land a constant lamp Flames by His small and mighty camp. There is no strange and distant place That is not gladdened by His face. And every nation kneels to hail The Splendour shining through Its veil. ”

“ Yet stars in greater numbers shine, And violets in millions grow, And they in many a golden line Are sung, as every child must know. Perhaps Fame thinks his worried eyes, His wrinkled, shrewd, pathetic face, His shop, and all he sells and buys Are desperately commonplace. ”

“ WHEN Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm⁠
⁠Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
⁠The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
⁠The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
⁠And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!" ”

“ The road is rhythmic with the feet
⁠Of men-at-arms who come to pray.
The roses blossom white and red
⁠On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
⁠And martial music cleaves the sky. ”

“ O Carpenter of Nazareth, Whose mother was a village maid, Shall we, Thy children, blow our breath In scorn on any humble trade? Have pity on our foolishness And give us eyes, that we may see Beneath the shopman's clumsy dress The splendor of humanity! ”

“ Martin When I am tired of earnest men, Intense and keen and sharp and clever, Pursuing fame with brush or pen Or counting metal disks forever, Then from the halls of Shadowland Beyond the trackless purple sea Old Martin's ghost comes back to stand Beside my desk and talk to me. ”

“ Yea, at His feet
Sit, waiting us, to their concealment bid,
All they, our lovers, whom His Love hath hid.
Lo, comfort blooms on pain, and peace on strife,
⁠And gain on loss.
What is the key to Everlasting Life? ”

“ Outside the towns are cool and clean; Curtained awhile from sound and sight They take God's gracious gift of night. The stars are watchful over them. On Clifton as on Bethlehem The angels, leaning down the sky, Shed peace and gentle dreams. ”

“ Yet, as I look, I see a woman's face
⁠Gleam from a window far above the street.
This is a house of homes, a sacred place,
⁠By human passion made divinely sweet.
How all the building thrills with sudden grace
⁠Beneath the magic of Love's golden feet! ”

“ Above the stars is set your nest. Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly And in the trees of Heaven rest. And little children in their dreaming Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming And smile, by your clear music blest. ”

“ Why, daily on each corner grows A foe to rob him of his trade. He fights, and for his fireside's sake; He fights for clothing and for bread: The lances of his foemen make A steely halo round his head. ”

“ It was a dirty way to die! To put a bullet through your head And make a silly woman cry! You could not vex the merry stars Nor make them heed you, dead or living. Not all your puny anger mars God's irresistible forgiving. ”

“ NOW by what whim of wanton chance⁠
⁠Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance
⁠Walk weary and laborious ways?
But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
⁠May penetrate the gloom of earth ”

“ HOMER, they tell us, was blind and could not see the beautiful faces
⁠Looking up into his own and reflecting the joy of his dream,
⁠Yet did he seem
Gifted with eyes that could follow the gods to their holiest places. ”

“ The fool shall mount an Arab steed And Jesus ride upon an ass. This man has home and child and wife And battle set for every day. This man has God and love and life; These stand, all else shall pass away. ”

“ THE lonely farm, the crowded street,
⁠The palace and the slum,
Give welcome to my silent feet
⁠As, bearing gifts, I come.
Last night a beggar crouched alone,
⁠A ragged helpless thing;
I set him on a moonbeam throne—
⁠Today he is a king. ”

“ Home, with his wife and little son, He is no huckster, but a man! And there are those who grasp his hand, Who drink with him and wish him well. O in no drear and lonely land Shall he who honors friendship dwell. ”

“ Burst the frail web about you clinging And charm Death's cruel heart with singing Till with strange tears his eyes are wet. The scented morning of the year Is old and stale now ye are gone. No friendly songs the children hear Among the bushes on the lawn. When babies wander out a-Maying Will ye, their bards, afar be straying? ”

“ Our lamps intensify the dark Of slumbering Passaic Park. And quiet holds the weary feet That daily tramp through Prospect Street. What though we clang and clank and roar Through all Passaic's streets? ”