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!"
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.
Joyce Kilmer's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Alarm Clocks by Joyce Kilmer )
- Strip unfinnished, lee fones
- Will You Love Me When I'm Old, Lilly Emery
- You Won't Let Me, Heather Burns
- Love Is The Flame, Lilly Emery
- A HERE WE PART و من هنا نفترق, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Fading Into Yesterday, Heather Burns
- Love Never Truly Ends, Lilly Emery
- Oh Mediterranean Sea, Lilly Emery
- Calculating The Odds, Kyle Schlicher
- Wind Poem, Kyle Schlicher