The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1922-11-26

rent 0eautlfuiiy as there IN 1914
in desperate b
have rendezvous with death
When Spring brings back blue days
and fair.
God knows ftwere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful
sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse and breath to
breath,
Where hused awakenings are dear
But I've q rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this
year,
And i to my pledged word am true
shall not fail that rendezvous"
The Grave Of Joyce Kilner
1t is now one year since I motored
from Paris out to q little American
cemetery not far from Chateau
Thierry where. under plain wooden
cross, lie the remains OF Joyce Kill
mer, an American boy, who wrote
the most beautiful poem ever made
to a tree. Many of you, like me,
have committed IL to memory. II
reads:
/ think that i shall never see
A poem lovely as 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 leafty 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.
The cemetery in which Kilmer lies
is beautifully kept, and the grass is
green over his grave. but there is no
tree within a quarter of mile and
the sun beats down without re-
straint upon the hundreds of little
white crosses standing there. Sergeant
Kilmer's grave is surrounded by the
crosses of little known soldiers, and
il was only by accident that one of
our party found 1T and brought US
to the spot As / looked at the cross
/ thought of young Kilmers poem
III which he painted the agony of our
Savior on Calvary and thus made the
less of his own sufferings as a SOL
dicr.
My shoulders ache beneath my pack
Uie easier, Cross, upon His back)
march with feet that burn ami
smart
'(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my hearth
Of MI un1 N
They scouraged Thy back and smote
Thy cheeky
Ny rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers
Gomez
Lord. Thou 'didst suffer more for me
So let me render back again
This miIlionth of Thy gift. Amen.
Could any man leave better mon
ument than that?
On that same day ] saw the grave
of Quentin Roosevelt, and bowed my
head over the remains of the son of
our greatest American since Abraham
Lincoln was ASA ssfhated in Fori's
theatre at Washington. Quentin lies
on the side of hill rear where he
fell with his fighting airplane. There
are forest trees near by, and beau
tiful monument which the French
keep decorated with flowers, stands
above him.
Blown Up in n Night
But let us get back TO our auto
mobile and turn the moving picture
camera crank. The next pictures are
these of Coucy-le- Chateau where
some wonderful reconstruction work
has been done by Mrs. Whitney War
rem of New York. Here are to me
some of the most terrible evidences
of vandalism committed during the
war. The stronghold will remain an
historic ruin for ages to come.
Chateau was a great cas-
tie city, built in feudal times on a
hall which rises abruptly out of the
beautiful valley of the Aisne to three
fourths the height of the Washington
The top of the hill is
flat, and 1t was famous for its for
castle. The stronghold which
covered more than two acres, had
been partially destroyed several times