#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
But Islands of the Blessèd, bless… I never came upon a blessèd one.
When I got up through the mowing… The headless aftermath, Smooth-laid like thatch with the h… Half closes the garden path. And when I come to the garden gro…
Back out of all this now too much… Back in a time made simple by the… Of detail, burned, dissolved, and… Like graveyard marble sculpture in… There is a house that is no more a…
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…
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s
The grade surmounted, we were ridi… Through level mountains nothing to… But scrub oak, scrub oak and the l… That kept the oaks from getting an… But as through the monotony we ran…
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil
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…
When a friend calls to me from the… And slows his horse to a meaning w… I don’t stand still and look aroun… On all the hills I haven’t hoed, And shout from where I am, What i…
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…
An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such.
I let myself in at the kitchen doo… ‘It’s you,' she said. 'I can’t ge… Not answering your knock. I can n… Let people in than I can keep the… I’m getting too old for my size,…
A house that lacks, seemingly, mis… With doors that none but the wind… Its floor all littered with glass… It stands in a garden of old-fashi… I pass by that way in the gloaming…
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…