The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white; His ink is dew from daisies sweet, His pen a point of light.
I suppose I passed it a hundred times, But I always stop for a minute. And look at the house, the tragic house, The house with nobody in it. - Joyce Kilmer
I suppose I passed it a hundred times, But I always stop for a minute. And look at the house, the tragic house, The house with nobody in it.
- Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that lo… - Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that lo…
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 with tears.It's a rough … - Joyce Kilmer
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 with tears.It's a rough …
The only reason a road is good as every wanderer knows / Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which one goes - Joyce Kilmer
The only reason a road is good as every wanderer knows / Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which one goes
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
There is no place in which to hide when Age comes seeking for his bride. - Joyce Kilmer
There is no place in which to hide when Age comes seeking for his bride.
Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree - Joyce Kilmer
Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree
The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings. - Joyce Kilmer
The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings.
It is stern work, it is perilous work, to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men: But Prometheu… - Joyce Kilmer
It is stern work, it is perilous work, to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men: But Prometheu…
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