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Poem by Joyce Kilmer


Father Gerard Hopkins, S. J.


Why didst thou carve thy speech laboriously,
And match and blend thy words with curious art?
For Song, one saith, is but a human heart
Speaking aloud, undisciplined and free.
Nay, God be praised, Who fixed thy task for thee!
Austere, ecstatic craftsman, set apart
From all who traffic in ApolloТs mart,
On thy phrased paten shall the Splendour be!
Now, carelessly we throw a rhyme to God,
Singing His praise when other songs are done.
But thou, who knewest paths Teresa trod,
Losing thyself, what is it thou hast won?
O bleeding feet, with peace and glory shod!
O happy moth, that flew into the Sun!



Joyce Kilmer


Joyce Kilmer's other poems:
  1. The Robe of Christ
  2. Madness
  3. In Memory
  4. The Proud Poet
  5. Queen Elizabeth Speaks


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