Joyce Kilmer

[1886ÔÇô1918]

Surely the saints you loved visibly came
To welcome you, that day in Picardy —
Stephen whose dying eyes beheld his Lord,
Michael, a living blade of crystal flame,
And all the flower of heavenly chivalry
Smiling upon you, calling you by name.
Leaving your body like a broken sword
You went with them — and now, beyond our sight,
Still in the ranks of God you sing and fight,
For death to you was one more victory.
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