#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
The house had gone to bring again To the midnight sky a sunset glow. Now the chimney was all of the hou… Like a pistil after the petals go The barn opposed across the way,
Between two burrs on the map Was a hollow-headed snake. The burrs were hills, the snake wa… And the hollow head was a lake. And the dot in front of a name
“OH, let’s go up the hill and sca… As reckless as the best of them to… By setting fire to all the brush w… With pitchy hands to wait for rain… Oh, let’s not wait for rain to mak…
Two fairies it was On a still summer day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked
As far as I can see this autumn h… That spreading in the evening air… Makes the new moon look anything b… And pours the elm-tree meadow full… Is all the smoke from one poor hou…
There is a singer everyone has hea… Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood… Who makes the solid tree trunks so… He says that leaves are old and th… Mid-summer is to spring as one to…
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,
They leave us so to the way we too…
The old dog barks backwards withou… I can remember when he was a pup.
Something inspires the only cow of… To make no more of a wall than an… And think no more of wall-builders… Her face is flecked with pomace an… A cider syrup. Having tasted frui…
The city had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to th… When between whirls of snow not co… And whirls of foliage not yet laid… A stranger to our yard, who looked…
Never have I been glad or sad That there was such a thing as bad… There had to be, I understood, For there to have been any good. It was by having been contrasted
A head thrusts in as for the view, But where it is it thrusts in from Or what it is it thrusts into By that Cyb’laean avenue, And what can of its coming come,
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…
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