#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
Roll stones down on our head! You squat old pyramid, Your last good avalanche Was long since slid. Your top has sunk too low,
There overtook me and drew me in To his down-hill, early-morning st… And set me five miles on my road Better than if he had had me ride, A man with a swinging bag for’load
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…
I went to turn the grass once afte… Who mowed it in the dew before the… The dew was gone that made his bla… Before I came to view the levelle… I looked for him behind an isle of…
I came an errand one cloud-blowing… To a slab-built, black-paper-cover… Of one room and one window and one… The only dwelling in a waste cut o… A hundred square miles round it in…
BROWN lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores In winter after half-past three. And many must have seen him make
The line—storm clouds fly tattered… The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones… And the hoof—prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for…
Mary sat musing on the lamp—flame… Waiting for Warren. When she hear… She ran on tip—toe down the darken… To meet him in the doorway with th… And put him on his guard. “Silas…
A Stranger came to the door at ev… And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his… And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than t…
“When I was just as far as I coul… From here today, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against…
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fal… To—morrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call;
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?
The soil now gets a rumpling soft… And small regard to the future of… The final flat of the hoe’s approv… Is reserved for the bed of a few s… There is seldom more than a man to…
I stole forth dimly in the drippin… Between two downpours to see what… And a masked moon had spread down… To a cone mountain in the midnight… As if the final estimate were hers…
Two fairies it was On a still summer day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked