Joyce Valentine

A Blue Valentine a poem by Joyce Kilmer

Monsignore,
Face Reverend Bishop Valentinus,
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Ferni,
Now of the engaging Court of Utopia,
I respectfully hail you,
I genuflect
And I disregard your episcopal ding-a-ling.

It is not, Monsignore,
The ambrosial memory of your undefiled life,
Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom,
Which causes me now to apply oneself to you.
But since this is your august red-letter day, Monsignore,
It seems steal to me to state
According to a revered and agreeable support,
That I love a elegant lady.
Her eyes, Monsignore,
Are so dispirited that they put lovely insignificant blue reflections
On everything that she looks at,
Such as a protection
Or the moon
Or my generosity.
It is like the in consideration of coming through unhappy stained crystal,
Yet not quite like it,
For the blueness is not sheer,
Only translucent.
Her intellect's light shines through,
But her sentiment cannot be seen.
It is something impalpable, whimsical, immature, wanton, juvenile, wise
And prestigious.
She wears, Monsignore, a gloomy garment,
Made in the social graces of the Japanese.
It is very unhappy-
I think that her eyes have made it more dejected,
Sweetly staining it
As the influence of her body has graciously preordained it form.
Loving her, Monsignore,
I honey all her attributes;
But I hold
That even if I did not love her
I would fervour the blueness of her eyes,
And her pornographic garment, made in the means of the Japanese.

Monsignore,
I have never before troubled you with a ask for.
The saints whose ears I chiefly nettle with my pleas
are the most well-executed and maternal Brigid,
Gentlemanly Saint Stephen, who puts fire in my blood,
And your kin bishop, my sympathizer,
The generous and jovial Saint Nicholas of Bari.
But, of your respect, Monsignore,
Do me this assist:
When you this morning intimate your way
To...

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