Poems by Alfred Joyce Kilmer

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Monsignore,
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
(For Eleanor Rogers Cox)
(For Aline)
No longer of Him be it said
There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,
Why is that wanton gossip Fame
The air is like a butterfly
(In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett)
Why didst thou carve thy speech laboriously,
(For A. K. K.)
(For Richardson Little Wright)
(For Aline)
I
In alien earth, across a troubled sea,
(For the Rev. James B. Dollard)
(For the Rev. John J. Burke, C. S. P.)
(For Aline)
(For Sara Teasdale)
(For S. M. L.)
When I am tired of earnest men,
"Dulce et decorum est"
(For My Mother)
Serene he stands, with mist serenely crowned,
(For S. M. E.)
(For Robert Cortez Holliday)
A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand
Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells
My hands were stained with blood, my heart was proud and cold,
(For Amelia Josephine Burr)
(For Katherine Bregy)
Her lips' remark was: "Oh, you kid!"
We who beg for bread as we daily tread
Within the broken Vatican
(For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.)
(For John Bunker)
(For Helen Parry Eden)
Severe against the pleasant arc of sky
The boom and blare of the big brass band is cheering to my heart
(From the French of Emile Verhaeren)
(For Thomas Walsh)
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
(For My Mother)
(For Shaemas O Sheel)
(For Cecil Chesterton)
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
(For the Rev. Edward F. Garesche, S. J.)
(For Thomas Augustine Daly)
(For the Rev. Charles L. O'Donnell, C. S. C.)
(For Edward J. Wheeler)
(For Louise Imogen Guiney)
(For Alden March)
(For Kenton)
When you had played with life a space
Now is the rhymer's honest trade
Gentlest of critics, does your memory hold
(For Mrs. Henry Mills Alden)
(For Aline)
1814-1914
(For Aline)

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