#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women #XXCentury
I thought, as I wiped my eyes on… Penelope did this too. And more than once: you can’t keep… And undoing it all through the nig… Your arms get tired, and the back…
I looked in my heart while the wil… And what did I see I had not seen… Only a question less or a question… Nothing to match the flight of wil… Tiresome heart, forever living and…
Oh, here the air is sweet and stil… And soft’s the grass to lie on; And far away’s the little hill They took for Christ to die on. And there’s a hill across the broo…
I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide,
I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst. I gnawed at every root.
When will you learn, myself, to be a dying leaf on a living tree? Budding, swelling, growing strong, Wearing green, but not for long, Drawing sustenance from air,
Give away her gowns, Give away her shoes; She has no more use For her fragrant gowns; Take them all down,
To what purpose, April, do you re… Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with th… Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know.
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
Down, you mongrel, Death! Back into your kennel! I have stolen breath In a stalk of fennel! You shall scratch and you shall wh…
Into the golden vessel of great so… Let us pour all our passion; breas… Let other lovers lie, in love and… Not we,—articulate, so, but with t… Of all the world: the churning blo…
(He speaks, but to himself, being… Think not I have not heard. Well-fanged the double word And well-directed flew. I felt it. Down my side
I knew her for a little ghost That in my garden walked; The wall is high—higher than most— And the green gate was locked. And yet I did not think of that
Oh, my belovèd, have you thought… 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…