The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white; His ink is dew from daisies sweet, His pen a point of light. — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
IN MEMORIAM: FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE She whom we love, our Lady of Compassion, Can never die, for Love forbids her death. Love has bent down in his old kindly fashion, And breathed upon her his immortal breath. On wounded soldiers, in… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings. — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
There is no peace to be taken With poets who are young, For they worry about the wars to be fought and the songs… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet, There is a new-made grave today, Built by never a spade nor pick, Yet covered with… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
I suppose I passed it a hundred times, But I always stop for a minute. And look at the house, the tragic house, The… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
At present, I am a poet trying to be a soldier. To tell the truth, I am not interested in writing nowadays, except in… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white; His ink is dew from daisies sweet, His pen a point of light. — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years,And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
I think that I shall never scan A tree as lovely as a man. . . . . A tree depicts divinest plan, But… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
It is stern work, it is perilous work, to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to… — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
There is no place in which to hide when Age comes seeking for his bride. — Joyce Kilmer Copy Share Image
