SNIPPET: Poet and literary journalist, Alfred Joyce KILMER, was born in 1886 in New Brunswick, NJ, married Aline MURRAY (1888-1941), who was also a noted poet. He is best remembered for one short poem, "Trees." His mother, Annie Kilburn KILMER, wrote an autobiography, "Leaves From My Life," pub. NY 1925. Joyce KILMER enlisted in the NY National Guard and died in the 165th Reg. of the Rainbow Div., 2nd Battle of the Marne, July 30, 1918. KILMER received posthumously the Croix de Guerre and is buried in France. The first two verses of his poem are a refrain from Wm. B. YEATS' "September, 1913." He also refers to Lord Edward FITZGERALD (1763-98), Irish conspirator, member of the "United Irishmen;" Patrick SARSFIELD (d. 1693), Irish Jacobite; Robert EMMET (1778-1803), a "United Irishman;" and to Padraic PEARSE, poet and schoolmaster, general of the Easter 1916 uprising. EASTER WEEK "Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave." Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn A hue so radiantly brave? There was a rain of blood that day, Red rain in gay blue April weather. It blessed the earth till it gave birth To valour thick as blooms of heather. Romantic Ireland never dies! O'Leary lies in fertile ground, And songs and spears throughout the years Rise up where patriot graves are found. Immortal patriots newly dead And ye that bled in bygone years, What banners rise before your eyes? What is the tune that greets your ears? The young Republic's banners smile For many a mile where troops convene. O'Connell street is loudly sweet With strains of Wearing of the Green. The soil of Ireland throbs and glows With life that knows the hour is here To strike again like Irishmen For that which Irishmen hold dear. Lord Edward leaves his resting place And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce. See Emmet leap from troubled sleep To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse! There is no rope can strangle song And not for long death takes his toll. No prison bars can dim the stars Nor quicklime eat the living soul. Romantic Ireland is not old. For years untold her youth shall shine. Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread, The blood of martyrs is her wine.

SNIPPET: Alfred Joyce KILMER (1886-1918) is best remembered for the following poem, "Trees." It first appeared in "Poetry Magazine" in 1913, and it was title poem in Kilmer's collection, "Trees and Other Poems," the following year. Joyce Kilmer was born in New Brunswick, NJ, and attended Rutgers and Columbia universities. In addition to publishing two other collections of poetry, he edited an anthology of Roman Catholic poets. Kilmer was killed in action while serving in the U. S. Army in France during World War I. His wife, Aline (1888-1941), was also a noted poet. TREES I think that I shall never see A poem as lovely as a tree A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray. A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain, Who intimately lives with rain Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. -- A. Joyce Kilmer ----- Original Message ----- From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Sunday, April 19, 2009 10:53 AM Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Easter Week" -- Mr. A. Joyce KILMER (1886-1918)b. New Brunswick, NJ > SNIPPET: Poet and literary journalist, Alfred Joyce KILMER, was born in > 1886 in New Brunswick, NJ, married Aline MURRAY (1888-1941), who was also > a > noted poet. He is best remembered for one short poem, "Trees." <snip>