Thursday, 2 June 2011
Alfred Joyce Kilmer Poetry
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
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.
Love is made out of ecstasy and wonder;Love is a poignant and accustomed pain.
It was grief that made Mankind your lover,And it was grief that made you love Mankind.
The song within your heart could never riseUntil love bade it spread its wings and soar.
Love is made out of ecstasy and wonder;Love is a poignant and accustomed pain.It is a burst of Heaven-shaking thunder;It is a linnet's fluting after rain.
Because Mankind is glad and brave and young,Full of gay flames that white and scarlet glow,All joys and passions that Mankind may knowBy you were nobly felt and nobly sung.Because Mankind's heart every day is wrungBy Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so,Therefore you echoed Man's undying woe,A harp Aeolian on Life's branches hung.
Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discoverThe angry scar to which the world was blind:And it was grief that made Mankind your lover,And it was grief that made you love Mankind.