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Poem by Joyce Kilmer
Servant Girl and Grocer’s Boy
Her lips’ remark was: ”Oh, you kid!” Her soul spoke thus (I know it did): ”O king of realms of endless joy, My own, my golden grocer’s boy, I am a princess forced to dwell Within a lonely kitchen cell, While you go dashing through the land With loveliness on every hand. Your whistle strikes my eager ears Like music of the choiring spheres. The mighty earth grows faint and reels Beneath your thundering wagon wheels. How keenly, perilously sweet To cling upon that swaying seat! How happy she who by your side May share the splendors of that ride! Ah, if you will not take my hand And bear me off across the land, Then, traveller from Arcady, Remain awhile and comfort me. What other maiden can you find So young and delicate and kind?” Her lips’ remark was: ”Oh, you kid!” Her soul spoke thus (I know it did).
Joyce Kilmer's other poems:
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