#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
It snowed in spring on earth so dr… The flakes could find no landing p… Hordes spent themselves to make it… And still they failed of any lasti… They made no white impression on t…
‘Fred, where is north?’ ‘North? North is there, my love. The brook runs west.’ ‘West—running Brook then call it.… (West—Running Brook men call it t…
My long two-pointed ladder’s stick… Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’… Beside it, and there may be two or… Apples I didn’t pick upon some bo…
A neighbor of mine in the village Likes to tell how one spring When she was a girl on the farm, s… A childlike thing. One day she asked her father
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
The city had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to th… When between whirls of snow not co… And whirls of foliage not yet laid… A stranger to our yard, who looked…
Between two burrs on the map Was a hollow-headed snake. The burrs were hills, the snake wa… And the hollow head was a lake. And the dot in front of a name
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart
You were forever finding some new… So when I saw you down on hands a… In the meadow, busy with the new-c… Trying, I thought, to set it up o… I went to show you how to make it…
Around bend after bend, It was blown woods and no end. I came to but one house I made but the one friend. At the one house a child was out
As far as I can see this autumn h… That spreading in the evening air… Makes the new moon look anything b… And pours the elm-tree meadow full… Is all the smoke from one poor hou…
'You know Orion always comes up s… Throwing a leg up over our fence o… And rising on his hands, he looks… Busy outdoors by lantern-light wit… I should have done by daylight, an…
There’s a place called Far-away M… We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhou… The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flo…
He thought he kept the universe al… For all the voice in answer he cou… Was but the mocking echo of his ow… From some tree-hidden cliff across… Some morning from the boulder-brok…
But Islands of the Blessèd, bless… I never came upon a blessèd one.