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Joyce Kilmer
(1886-1918)
USA
| Alfred Joyce Kilmer was born in 1886 in New
Brunswick, New Jersey, and was killed in action somewhere in France
during World War I in 1918. Greatly influenced by the works of
William Butler Yeats and other Irish poets, Kilmer wrote that famous
poem "Trees" that first appeared in
POETRY, the same year he joined the staff of The New York Times.
The first Kilmer poem we've chosen to include here was written in
memory of the British poet Rupert Brooke, who, like Kilmer did months
later, laid down his life in battle during the First World War. |
IN MEMORY OF
RUPERT BROOKE
In alien earth, across a troubled sea,
His body lies that was so fair and young.
His mouth is stopped, with half his songs unsung;
His arm is still, that struck to make men free.
But let no cloud of lamentation be
Where, on a warrior's grave, a lyre is hung.
We keep the echoes of his golden tongue,
We keep the vision of his chivalry.
So Israel's joy, the loveliest of kings,
Smote now his harp, and now the hostile horde.
To-day the starry roof of Heaven rings
With psalms a soldier made to praise his Lord;
And David rests beneath Eternal wings,
Song on his lips, and in his hand a sword.
TO MY MOTHER
Gentlest of critics, does your memory hold
(I know it does) a record of the days
When I, a schoolboy, earned your generous praise
For halting verse and stories crudely told?
Over those childish scrawls the years have rolled,
They might not know the world's unfriendly gaze;
But still your smile shines down familiar ways,
Touches my words and turns their dross to Gold.
More dear, today, than in that vanished time
Comes your high praise to make me proud and strong.
In my poor notes you hear Love's splendid chime.
So unto you does this, my work belong.
Take then, a little gift of fragile rhyme:
Your heart will change it to authentic song.
Essay by Salvatore Amico M. Buttaci
© Copyright, Joyce Kilmer.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By
Permission.
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