#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
Always the same, when on a fated n… At last the gathered snow lets dow… As may be in dark woods, and with… It shall not make again all winter… Of hissing on the yet uncovered gr…
Her Word One ought not to have to care So much as you and I Care when the birds come round the… To seem to say good—bye;
Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in th… And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily “Hit them har… I knew pretty well why he had drop…
When I was young my teachers were… I gave up fire for form till I wa… I suffered like a metal being cast… I went to school to age to learn t… Now when I am old my teachers are…
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass
Poetry is when an emotion has foun…
When we locked up the house at nig… We always locked the flowers outsi… And cut them off from window light… The time I dreamed the door was t… And brushed with buttons upon slee…
The battle rent a cobweb diamond—s… And cut a flower beside a ground b… Before it stained a single human b… The stricken flower bent double an… And still the bird revisited her y…
I love to toy with the Platonic n… That wisdom need not be of Athens… But well may be Laconic, even Boe… At least I will not have it syste…
I didn’t make you know how glad I… To have you come and camp here on… promised myself to get down some d… And see the way you lived, but I… With a houseful of hungry men to f…
A governor it was proclaimed this… When all who would come seeking in… Ancestral memories might come toge… And those of the name Stark gathe… A rock-strewn town where farming h…
Love and forgetting might have car… A little further up the mountain s… With night so near, but not much f… They must have halted soon in any… With thoughts of a path back, how…
ONCE on the kind of day called “… When the heat slowly hazes and the… By its own power seems to be undon… I was half boring through, half cl… A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil…
I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place?