Alfred Joyce Kilmer Poems

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings today.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.
...

When you shall die and to the sky
Serenely, delicately go,
Saint Peter, when he sees you there,
Will clash his keys and say:
...

(For Aline)

Now by what whim of wanton chance
Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
...

Squire Adam had two wives, they say,
Two wives had he, for his delight,
He kissed and clypt them all the day
...

For blows on the fort of evil
That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races
...

I take my leave, with sorrow, of Him I love so well;
I look my last upon His small and radiant prison-cell;
...

(For S.M.L.)

I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea,
But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be
...

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,
...

The fragile splendour of the level sea,
The moon's serene and silver-veiled face,
Make of this vessel an enchanted place
...

Serene he stands, with mist serenely crowned,
And draws a cloak of trees about his breast.
The thunder roars but cannot break his rest
...