#1923 #AmericanWriters #NewHampshire #PulitzerPrize
No speed of wind or water rushing… But you have speed far greater. Y… Back up a stream of radiance to th… And back through history up the st… And you were given this swiftness,…
Dust always blowing about the town… Except when sea—fog laid it down, And I was one of the children tol… Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high
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…
There was never a sound beside the… And that was my long scythe whispe… What was it it whispered? I knew… Perhaps it was something about the… Something, perhaps, about the lack…
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…
HERE come the line-gang pioneeri… They throw a forest down less cut… They plant dead trees for living,… They string together with a living… They string an instrument against…
“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…
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…
In going from room to room in the… I reached out blindly to save my f… But neglected, however lightly, to… My fingers and close my arms in an… A slim door got in past my guard,
EVEN the bravest that are slain Shall not dissemble their surprise On waking to find valor reign, Even as on earth, in paradise; And where they sought without the…
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…
There’s a patch of old snow in a c… That I should have guessed Was a blow—away paper the rain Had brought to rest. It is speckled with grime as if
Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice,
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,
There’s a place called Far-away M… We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhou… The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flo…