#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
The old dog barks backwards withou… I can remember when he was a pup.
To Ridgely Torrence On Last Looking into His 'Hesper… I often see flowers from a passing… That are gone before I can tell w… I want to get out of the train and…
We dance round in a ring and suppo… But the Secret sits in the middle…
Wind the season-climate mixer In my Witches’ Weather Primer Says to make this Fall Elixir First you let the summer simmer, Using neither spoon nor skimmer,
A dented spider like a snow drop w… On a white Heal-all, holding up a… Like a white piece of lifeless sat… Saw ever curious eye so strange a… Portent in little, assorted death…
He halted in the wind, and– what… Far in the maples, pale, but not a… He stood there bringing March aga… And yet too ready to believe the m… ‘Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom…
A bird half wakened in the lunar n… Sang half way through its little i… Partly because it sang but once al… And that from no especial bush’s h… Partly because it sang ventriloqui…
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
The west was getting out of gold, The breath of air had died of cold… When shoeing home across the white… I thought I saw a bird alight. In summer when I passed the place
It was too lonely for her there, And too wild, And since there were but two of th… And no child, And work was little in the house,
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…
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;
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?
One thing has a shelving bank, Another a rotting plank, To give it cozier skies And make up for its lack of size. My own strategic retreat
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…