The Glory of Celestial Mirth

 As Winds That Blow Against a Star
(For Aline)
by Joyce Kilmer 

Now by what whim of wanton chance
 Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance 
 Walk weary and laborious ways? 

 But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
 May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul,
 The glory of celestial mirth. 

 The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
 Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
 As winds that blow against a star.

Joyce Kilmer is best known for his poem, "Trees" ("I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree...."), perhaps the most extraordinarily popular poem to be intensely (and, I think, understandably but nonetheless unfairly) hated by many poets, but in fact he has a wide and diverse poetic oeuvre, usually characterized by deliberate restraint in the use of poetic devices that gives his work an almost conversational, straight-to-the-point feel even when he is being quite clever. His poetry is often an excellent lesson in just how much you can do with the simple. For about five years -- from the publication of "Trees" to his death by a German sniper's bullet on July 30, 1918 at the age of 31-- he was arguably the most popular Catholic poet writing in English in the entire world, and certainly the most popular in America. During World War I, he was known for volunteering for dangerous military intelligence assignments and was highly respected for his coolness under pressure; he is buried in the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery in Picardy, France.