#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
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…
It took that pause to make him rea… The mountain he was climbing had t… As of a book held up before his ey… (And was a text albeit done in pla… Dwarf cornel, gold-thread, and mai…
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
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
If heaven were to do again, And on the pasture bars, I leaned to line the figures in Between the dotted stars, I should be tempted to forget,
Did you stay up last night (the M… To see the star shower known as L… That once a year by hand or appara… Is so mysteriously pelted at us? It is but fiery puffs of dust and…
Here’s first a gloveless hand warm… A perch and resting place ’twixt w… Bright-black-eyed silvery creature… The wings not folded in repose, bu… (Who would you be, I wonder, by t…
As gay for you to take your father… As take his gun—rod—to go hunting—… You nick my spruce until its fiber… It gives up standing straight and… You link an arm in its arm and you…
My unexpected knocking at the door Started chairs thundering on the k… Knives and forks ringing on the su… Voices conflicting like the candid… A mighty farmer flung the house do…
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
Now close the windows and hush all… If the trees must, let them silent… No bird is singing in them now, an… Be it my loss. It will be long ere the marshes re…
For every parcel I stoop down to… I lose some other off my arms and… And the whole pile is slipping, bo… Extremes too hard to comprehend at… Yet nothing I should care to leav…
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…
Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice,
God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden