#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
The Infinite’s being so wide Is the reason the Powers provide For inner defense my hide. For next defense outside. I make myself this time
A voice said, Look me in the star… And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth…
HERE come the line-gang pioneeri… They throw a forest down less cut… They plant dead trees for living,… They string together with a living… They string an instrument against…
The same leaves over and over agai… They fall from giving shade above To make one texture of faded brown And fit the earth like a leather g… Before the leaves can mount again
Come with rain, O loud Southweste… Bring the singer, bring the nester… Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow—bank steam; Find the brown beneath the white;
He is that fallen lance that lies… That lies unlifted now, come dew,… But still lies pointed as it ploug… If we who sight along it round the… See nothing worthy to have been it…
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…
We make ourselves a place apart Behind light words that tease and… But oh, the agitated heart Till someone find us really out. ’Tis pity if the case require
Pan came out of the woods one day,…
Thine emulous fond flowers are dea… And the daft sun—assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled… Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!)
Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
Out walking in the frozen swamp on… I paused and said, 'I will turn b… No, I will go on farther—and we s… The hard snow held me, save where… One foot went through. The view w…
Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
She had no saying dark enough For the dark pine that kept Forever trying the window latch Of the room where they slept. The tireless but ineffectual hands