#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
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…
Some of you will be glad I did wh… And the rest won’t want to punish… For finding a thing to do that tho… Yet wasn’t enjoined and wasn’t exp… To punish me over cruelly wouldn’t…
A boy, presuming on his intellect, Once showed two little monkeys in… A burning-glass they could not und… And never could be made to underst… Words are no good: to say it was a…
There’s a patch of old snow in a c… That I should have guessed Was a blow—away paper the rain Had brought to rest. It is speckled with grime as if
As I have known them passionate a… The gold for which they leave the… Of lyric is a golden light divine, Never the gold of darkness from a… The spirit plays us strange religi…
How countlessly they congregate O’er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as t… When wintry winds do blow!— As if with keenness for our fate,
No speed of wind or water rushing… But you have speed far greater. Y… Back up a stream of radiance to th… And back through history up the st… And you were given this swiftness,…
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
I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place?
Poetry is when an emotion has foun…
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…
When I was young, we dwelt in a v… By a misty fen that rang all night… And thus it was the maidens pale I knew so well, whose garments tra… Across the reeds to a window light…
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…
Here further up the mountain slope Than there was every any hope, My father built, enclosed a spring… Strung chains of wall round everyt… Subdued the growth of earth to gra…
It is as true as Caesar’s name wa… That no economist was ever wiser (Though prodigal himself and a des… Of capital and calling thrift a mi… And when we get too far apart in w…