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Poem by Joyce Kilmer


Alarm Clocks


When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling ФIt is day!Ф
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.



Joyce Kilmer


Joyce Kilmer's other poems:
  1. Multiplication
  2. Father Gerard Hopkins, S. J.
  3. To A Young Poet Who Killed Himself
  4. Citizen of the World
  5. The White Ships and the Red


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