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MainStreetandOtherPoems1MainStreetandOtherPoemsbyJoyceKilmerMainStreetandOtherPoems2MainStreet(ForS.M.L.)Iliketolookattheblossomytrackofthemoonuponthesea,Butitisn'thalfsofineasightasMainStreetusedtobeWhenitallwascoveredoverwithacoupleoffeetofsnow,Andoverthecrispandradiantroadtheringingsleighswouldgo.Now,MainStreetborderedwithautumnleaves,itwasapleasantthing,AnditsguttersweregaywithdandelionsearlyintheSpring;Iliketothinkofitwhitewithfrostordustyintheheat,BecauseIthinkitishumanerthananyotherstreet.Acitystreetthatisbusyandwideisgroundbyathousandwheels,Andaburdenoftrafficonitsbreastisalliteverfeels:Itisdullyconsciousofweightandspeedandofworkthatneverends,ButitcannotbehumanlikeMainStreet,andrecogniseitsfriends.TherewereonlyaboutahundredteamsonMainStreetinaday,Andtwentyorthirtypeople,Iguess,andsomechildrenouttoplay.Andtherewasn'tawagonorbuggy,oramanoragirloraboyThatMainStreetdidn'tremember,andsomehowseemtoenjoy.ThetruckandthemotorandtrolleycarandtheelevatedtrainTheymakethewearycitystreetreverberatewithpain:ButthereisyetanecholeftdeepdownwithinmyheartOfthemusictheMainStreetcobblestonesmadebeneathabutcher'scart.GodbethankedfortheMilkyWaythatrunsacrossthesky,That'sthepaththatmyfeetwouldtreadwheneverIhavetodie.SomefolkscallitaSilverSword,andsomeaPearlyCrown,ButtheonlythingIthinkitis,isMainStreet,Heaventown.Roofs(ForAmeliaJosephineBurr)MainStreetandOtherPoems3Theroadiswideandthestarsareoutandthebreathofthenightissweet,Andthisisthetimewhenwanderlustshouldseizeuponmyfeet.ButI'mgladtoturnfromtheopenroadandthestarlightonmyface,Andtoleavethesplendourofout-of-doorsforahumandwellingplace.IneverhaveseenavagabondwhoreallylikedtoroamAllupanddownthestreetsoftheworldandnottohaveahome:ThetrampwhosleptinyourbarnlastnightandleftatbreakofdayWillwanderonlyuntilhefindsanotherplacetostay.Agypsy-manwillsleepinhiscartwithcanvasoverhead;Orelsehe'llgointohistentwhenitistimeforbed.He'llsitonthegrassandtakehiseasesolongasthesunishigh,Butwhenitisdarkhewantsarooftokeepawaythesky.Ifyoucallagypsyavagabond,Ithinkyoudohimwrong,Forhenevergoesa-travellingbuthetakeshishomealong.Andtheonlyreasonaroadisgood,aseverywandererknows,Isjustbecauseofthehomes,thehomes,thehomestowhichitgoes.Theysaythatlifeisahighwayanditsmilestonesaretheyears,Andnowandthenthere'satoll-gatewhereyoubuyyourwaywithtears.It'saroughroadandasteeproadanditstretchesbroadandfar,ButatlastitleadstoagoldenTownwheregoldenHousesare.MainStreetandOtherPoems4TheSnowmanintheYard(ForThomasAugustineDaly)TheJudge'shousehasasplendidporch,withpillarsandstepsofstone,AndtheJudgehasalovelyfloweringhedgethatcamefromacrosstheseas;IntheHales'garageyoucouldputmyhouseandeverythingIown,AndtheHaleshavealawnlikeanemeraldandarowofpoplartrees.NowIhaveonlyalittlehouse,andonlyalittlelot,Andonlyafewsquareyardsoflawn,withdandelionsstarred;ButwhenWintercomes,IhavesomethingtherethattheJudgeandtheHaleshavenot,Andit'sbetterworthhavingthanalltheirwealth--it'sasnowmanintheyard.TheJudge'smoneybringsarchitectstomakehismansionfair;TheHaleshavesevengardenerstomaketheirrosesgrow;TheJudgecangethistreesfromSpainandFranceandeverywhere,Andraisehisorchidsunderglassinthemidstofallthesnow.ButIhavesomethingnoarchitectorgardenerevermade,Athingthatisshapedbythebusytouchoflittlemittenedhands:AndtheJudgewouldgiveuphislonelyestate,wherethelevelsnowislaidForthetinyhousewiththetrampledyard,theyardwherethesnowmanstands.TheysaythatafterAdamandEveweredrivenawayintearsTotoilandsuffertheirlife-timethrough,becauseofthesintheysinned,TheLordmadeWintertopunishthemforhalftheirexiledyears,Tochilltheirbloodwiththesnow,andpiercetheirfleshwiththeicywind.Butwewhoinherittheprimalcurse,andlabourforourbread,Haveyet,thankGod,thegiftofHome,thoughEden'sgateisbarred:AndthroughtheWinter'scrystalveil,Love'srosesblossomred,Forhimwholivesinahousethathasasnowmanintheyard.ABlueValentine(ForAline)MainStreetandOtherPoems5Monsignore,RightReverendBishopValentinus,SometimeofInteramna,whichiscalledFerni,NowofthedelightfulCourtofHeaven,Irespectfullysaluteyou,IgenuflectAndIkissyourepiscopalring.Itisnot,Monsignore,Thefragrantmemoryofyourholylife,Northatofyourshiningandjoyousmartyrdom,Whichcausesmenowtoaddressyou.Butsincethisisyouraugustfestival,Monsignore,ItseemsappropriatetometostateAccordingtoavenerableandagreeablecustom,ThatIloveabeautifullady.Hereyes,Monsignore,AresobluethattheyputlovelylittlebluereflectionsOneverythingthatshelooksat,SuchasawallOrthemoonOrmyheart.Itislikethelightcomingthroughbluestainedglass,Yetnotquitelikeit,Forthebluenessisnottransparent,Onlytranslucent.Hersoul'slightshinesthrough,Buthersoulcannotbeseen.Itissomethingelusive,whimsical,tender,wanton,infantile,wiseAndnoble.Shewears,Monsignore,abluegarment,MadeinthemanneroftheJapanese.Itisveryblue--Ithinkthathereyeshavemadeitmoreblue,SweetlystainingitAsthepressureofherbodyhasgraciouslygivenitform.Lovingher,Monsignore,Iloveallherattributes;ButIbelieveThatevenifIdidnotloveherIwouldlovethebluenessofhereyes,Andherbluegarment,madeinthemanneroftheJapanese.Monsignore,Ihaveneverbeforetroubledyouwitharequest.Thesaintswho