#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
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 fisherman’s swapping a yarn fo… Under the hand of the village barb… And her in the angle of house and… His deep-sea dory has found a harb… At anchor she rides the sunny sod
The Voice said, “Hurl her down!” The Voices, “How far down?” “Seven levels of the world.” “How much time have we?” “Take twenty years.
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
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…
Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.
All out-of-doors looked darkly in… Through the thin frost, almost in… That gathers on the pane in empty… What kept his eyes from giving bac… Was the lamp tilted near them in h…
There sandy seems the golden sky And golden seems the sandy plain. No habitation meets the eye Unless in the horizon rim, Some halfway up the limestone wall…
To Time it never seems that he is… To set himself against the peaks o… To lay them level with the running… Nor is he overjoyed when they lie… But only grave, contemplative and…
(To hear us talk) The tree the tempest with a crash… Throws down in front of us is not… Our passage to our journey’s end f… But just to ask us who we think we…
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?
These pools that, though in forest… The total sky almost without defec… And like the flowers beside them,… Will like the flowers beside them… And yet not out by any brook or ri…
Let the downpour roil and toil! The worst it can do to me Is carry some garden soil A little nearer the sea. ’Tis the world-old way of the rain
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…
Mary sat musing on the lamp—flame… Waiting for Warren. When she hear… She ran on tip—toe down the darken… To meet him in the doorway with th… And put him on his guard. “Silas…