#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
(Microscopic) A speck that would have been benea… On any but a paper sheet so white Set off across what I had written… And I had idly poised my pen in a…
He would declare and could himself… That the birds there in all the ga… From having heard the daylong voic… Had added to their own an oversoun… Her tone of meaning but without th…
If tires of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn, To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. There amid loggin juniper reclined, Myself unseen, I see in w...
Here come real stars to fill the u… And here on earth come emulating f… That though they never equal stars… (And they were never really stars… Achieve at times a very star—like…
Sea waves are green and wet, But up from where they die, Rise others vaster yet, And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land
When we locked up the house at nig… We always locked the flowers outsi… And cut them off from window light… The time I dreamed the door was t… And brushed with buttons upon slee…
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…
I have wished a bird would fly awa… And not sing by my house all day; Have clapped my hands at him from… When it seemed as if I could bear… The fault must partly have been in…
A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to… For a poem there used to be on Sp… I tried to tell her “There’s no s… For whom would a poem on Spring b…
I’ve known ere now an interfering… Of alder catch my lifted axe behin… But that was in the woods, to hold… From striking at another alder’s r… And that was, as I say, an alder…
Some one in ancient Mas d’Azil Once took a little pebble wheel And dotted it with red for me, And sent it to me years and years— A million years to be precise—
Thine emulous fond flowers are dea… And the daft sun—assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled… Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!)
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…
It is late at night and still I a… But still I am steady and unaccus… As long as the Declaration guards My right to be equal in number of… It is nothing to me who runs the…
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