#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
If this uncertain age in which we… Were really as dark as I hear sag… And I convinced that they were re… I should not curse myself with it… But leaving not the chair I long…
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s
One of my wishes is that those dar… So old and firm they scarcely show… Were not, as ’twere, the merest ma… But stretched away unto the edge o… I should not be withheld but that…
Love has earth to which she clings With hills and circling arms about… Wall within wall to shut fear out. But Thought has need of no such t… For Thought has a pair of dauntle…
I have wished a bird would fly awa… And not sing by my house all day; Have clapped my hands at him from… When it seemed as if I could bear… The fault must partly have been in…
From where I lingered in a lull i… outside the sugar-house one night… I called the fireman with a carefu… And bade him leave the pan and sto… ‘O fireman, give the fire another…
Was there even a cause too lost, Ever a cause that was lost too lon… Or that showed with the lapse of t… For the generous tears of youth an…
Once when the snow of the year was… We stopped by a mountain pasture t… A little Morgan had one forefoot… The other curled at his breast. H… And snorted at us. And then he ha…
The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hil… The graveyard draws the living sti… But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say:
Something inspires the only cow of… To make no more of a wall than an… And think no more of wall-builders… Her face is flecked with pomace an… A cider syrup. Having tasted frui…
It is blue-butterfly day here in s… And with these sky-flakes down in… There is more unmixed color on the… Than flowers will show for days un… But these are flowers that fly and…
Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.
Over back where they speak of life… ('You couldn’t call it living, for… There was an old, old house renewe… And in it a piano loudly playing. Out in the plowed ground in the co…
At the end of the row I stepped on the toe Of an unemployed hoe. It rose in offense And struck me a blow
When the spent sun throws up its r… And goes down burning into the gul… No voice in nature is heard to cry… At what has happened. Birds, at l… It is the change to darkness in th…