#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women #XXCentury
We talk of taxes, and I call you… Well, such you are,—but well enoug… How thick about us root, how rankl… Those subtle weeds no man has need… That flourish through neglect, and…
Man alive, that mournst thy lot, Desiring what thou hast not got, Money, beauty, love, what not; Deeming it blesseder to be A rotted man, than live to see
I know I am but summer to your he… And not the full four seasons of t… And you must welcome from another… Such noble moods as are not mine,… No gracious weight of golden fruit…
People that build their houses inl… People that buy a plot of ground Shaped like a house, and build a h… Far from the sea-board, far from t… Of water sucking the hollow ledges…
Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well: Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell? She is happy where she lies
Oh, my beloved, have you thought o… How in the years to come unscrupul… More cruel than Death, will tear… And make you old, and leave me in… How you and I, who scale together…
“Heaven bless the babe!” they said… “What queer books she must have re… (Love, by whom I was beguiled, Grant I may not bear a child.) “Little does she guess to-day
Mindful of you the sodden earth in… And all the flowers that in the sp… And dusty roads, and thistles, and… Rising of the round moon, all thro… The summer through, and each depar…
Detestable race, continue to expun… Breed faster, crowd, encroach, sin… Make speeches, unveil statues, iss… Convert again into explosives the… Convert again into putrescent matt…
Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through. Suffer me to take your hand. Death comes in a day or two. All the things we ever knew
The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices sp… Yet there isn’t a train goes by al… But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn’t a train goes…
I am not resigned to the shutting… So it is, and so it will be, for s… Into the darkness they go, the wis… With lilies and with laurel they g… Lovers and thinkers, into the eart…
And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - So much is true. And why you come complaining
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain,— Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane,
Not even my pride shall suffer muc… Not even my pride at all, maybe, If this ill-timed, intemperate clu… Be loosed by you and not by me, Will suffer; I have been so true