Smile poems
/ page 277 of 369 /
Folly
© Joyce Kilmer
(For A. K. K.)What distant mountains thrill and glow
Beneath our Lady Folly's tread?
Why has she left us, wise in woe,
Shrewd, practical, uncomforted?
Delicatessen
© Joyce Kilmer
Why is that wanton gossip Fame
So dumb about this man's affairs?
Why do we titter at his name
Who come to buy his curious wares?
To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring
© Joyce Kilmer
(For Kenton)An iron hand has stilled the throats
That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee
And dammed the flood of silver notes
That drenched the world in melody.
Martin
© Joyce Kilmer
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,
Songs of the Spring Days
© George MacDonald
A gentle wind, of western birth
On some far summer sea,
Wakes daisies in the wintry earth,
Wakes hopes in wintry me.
Mid-ocean in War-time
© Joyce Kilmer
(For My Mother)The fragile splendour of the level sea,
The moon's serene and silver-veiled face,
Make of this vessel an enchanted place
Full of white mirth and golden sorcery.
The Vanishers
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Sweetest of all childlike dreams
In the simple Indian lore
Still to me the legend seems
Of the shapes who flit before.
Ode Written in Spring
© John Logan
No longer hoary winter reigns,
No longer binds the streams in chains,
Lionel Johnson
© Joyce Kilmer
(For the Rev. John J. Burke, C. S. P.)There was a murkier tinge in London's air
As if the honest fog blushed black for shame.
Fools sang of sin, for other fools' acclaim,
And Milton's wreath was tossed to Baudelaire.
The Twelve-Forty-Five
© Joyce Kilmer
(For Edward J. Wheeler)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.
Madness
© Joyce Kilmer
(For Sara Teasdale)The lonely farm, the crowded street,
The palace and the slum,
Give welcome to my silent feet
As, bearing gifts, I come.
Queen Mab: Part VII.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Even the murderer's cheek
Was blanched with horror, and his quivering lips
Scarce faintly uttered-"O almighty one,
I tremble and obey!"
Easter Week
© Joyce Kilmer
(In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett)("Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.")William Butler Yeats."Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave."
Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn
The Voyage Of St. Brendan A.D. 545 - The Vocation
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
O Ita, mother of my heart and mind--
My nourisher, my fosterer, my friend,
Who taught me first to God's great will resigned,
Before his shining altar-steps to bend;
Hymn Of Trust
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
O Love Divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care,
We smile at pain while Thou art near!
A Prayer
© Alfred Noyes
Only a little, O Father, only to rest
Or ever the night comes and the eternal sleep,
Only to rest a little, a little to weep
In the dead love's pitiful arms, on the dead love's breast,
