#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury
YOUR eyes and the valley are mem… Your eyes fire and the valley a bo… It was here a moonrise crept over… It was here we turned the coffee c… And your eyes and the moon swept t…
EMPTY battlefields keep their ph… Grass crawls over old gun wheels And a nodding Canada thistle flin… Into the summer’s southwest wind, Wrapping a root in the rust of a b…
STYLE—go ahead talking about sty… You can tell where a man gets his… as you can tell where Pavlowa got… or Ty Cobb his batting eye. Go on talking.
I WANDER down on Clinton stree… And listen to the voices of Itali… It is a cataract of coloratura And I could sleep to their musica…
telling where the wind comes from open a story. Pencils telling where the wind goes end a story.
There was a woman tore off a red v… And slashed the white skin of her… And a crimson zigzag wrote a finge… There was a woman spoke six short… And quit a life that was old to he…
SOMEBODY’S little girl-how eas… Somebody’s little girl-she played… It was somewhere on the Erie line… And out of her hair she shook the… Somebody’s little girl-forty littl…
I saw a famous man eating soup. I say he was lifting a fat broth Into his mouth with a spoon. His name was in the newspapers tha… Spelled out in tall black headline…
WHAT cry of peach blossoms let loose on the air today I heard with my face thrown in the pink-white of it all? in the red whisper of it all?
IN the old wars drum of hoofs and… In the new wars hum of motors and… In the wars to come silent wheels… yet dreamed out in the heads of me… In the old wars clutches of short…
IT is something to face the sun and know you are free. To hold your head in the shafts of daylight slanting the earth And know your heart has kept a promise and the blood runs clean: To...
THE owl-car clatters along, dogge… From building and battered paving-… The headlight scoffs at the mist, And fixes its yellow rays in the c… Against a pane I press my forehea…
LET us go out of the fog, John,… Let us sit among the telegrams-cli… It is a fog night out and the umbr… Here the telegrams come-one king g… Let us go out in the fog, John, l…
ONE by one lights of a skyscraper… I believe the skyscraper loves nig… And loves the white of her shoulde… The masonry of steel looks to the… He is a little dizzy and almost da…
GRIEG being dead we may speak of… Grieg being dead we can talk about… Grieg being with Ibsen, Björnson… Grieg being dead does not care a h… Morning, Spring, Anitra’s Dance,