#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
I slumbered with your poems on my… Spread open as I dropped them hal… Like dove wings on a figure on a t… To see, if in a dream they brought… I might not have the chance I mis…
What things for dream there are wh… Moving amond tall haycocks lightly… I enter alone upon the stubbled fi… From which the laborers’ voices la… And in the antiphony of afterglow
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;
A tree’s leaves may be ever so goo… So may its bar, so may its wood; But unless you put the right thing… It never will show much flower or… But I may be one who does not car…
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…
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…
More than halfway up the pass Was a spring with a broken drinkin… And whether the farmer drank or no… His mare was sure to observe the s… By cramping the wheel on a water-b…
Out alone in the winter rain, Intent on giving and taking pain. But never was I far out of sight Of a certain upper-window light. The light was what it was all abou…
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…
No, I had set no prohibiting sign… And yes, my land was hardly fenced… Nevertheless the land was mine: I was being trespassed on and agai… Whoever the surly freedom took
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…
A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to… For a poem there used to be on Sp… I tried to tell her “There’s no s… For whom would a poem on Spring b…
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…
I had for my winter evening walk— No one at all with whom to talk, But I had the cottages in a row Up to their shining eyes in snow. And I thought I had the folk with…
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…