Trees and Other Poems by Joyce Kilmer
page 22 of 47 (46%)
page 22 of 47 (46%)
|
The darts of toil and sorrow, sent Against your peaceful beauty, are As foolish and as impotent As winds that blow against a star. St. Laurence Within the broken Vatican The murdered Pope is lying dead. The soldiers of Valerian Their evil hands are wet and red. Unarmed, unmoved, St. Laurence waits, His cassock is his only mail. The troops of Hell have burst the gates, But Christ is Lord, He shall prevail. They have encompassed him with steel, They spit upon his gentle face, He smiles and bleeds, nor will reveal The Church's hidden treasure-place. Ah, faithful steward, worthy knight, Well hast thou done. Behold thy fee! |
|