#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Shine on, O moon of summer. Shine to the leaves of grass, cata… All silver under your rain to-nigh… An Italian boy is sending songs t… accordion.
There is a wolf in me . . . fangs… tongue for raw meat. . . and the h… this wolf because the wilderness g… will not let it go. There is a fox in me. . . a silver…
HOW many feet ran with sunlight,… What little devils shaken of laugh… Fixed this lone red tulip, a woman… Who hurled this bomb of red caress… Love me before I die;
A GOLDWING moth is between the… Last night it flew hundreds of cir… The wings are a soft gold; it is t…
Pile the bodies high at Austerlit… Shovel them under and let me work— I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and V…
AMONG the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on.
The little girl saw her first troo… ‘What are those?’ ‘Soldiers.’ ‘What are soldiers?’ ‘They are for war. They fight and…
WHITE MOON comes in on a baby… The shafts across her bed are flim… Out on the land White Moon shines… Shines and glimmers against gnarle… All silver to slow twisted shadows
THE RIVER is gold under a suns… It is a molten gold someone pours… A woman mixing a wedding cake of b… Knows what the sunset is pouring o… The river twists in a letter S.
THIS is the song I rested with: The right shoulder of a strong man… The face of the rain that drizzled… The eyes of a child who slept whil… The petals of peony pink that flut…
BETWEEN two hills The old town stands. The houses loom And the roofs and trees And the dusk and the dark,
THE PEACE of great doors be fo… Wait at the knobs, at the panel ob… Wait for the great hinges. The peace of great churches be for… Where the players of loft pipe org…
There is a blue star, Janet, Fifteen years’ ride from us, If we ride a hundred miles an hour… There is a white star, Janet, Forty years’ ride from us,
PIETRO has twenty red and blue… They flutter and dance pulling Pi… A nickel apiece is what they sell… Wishing children tag Pietro’s hee… He sells out and goes the streets…
YOU never come back. I say good-by when I see you goin… The hopeless open doors that call… And take you then for—how many cen… How many cents for the sleepy eyes…