#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
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…
Nothing to say to all those marria… She had made three herself to thre… The score was even for them, three… But come to die she found she care… She thought of children in a buria…
“When I was just as far as I coul… From here today, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against…
You were forever finding some new… So when I saw you down on hands a… In the meadow, busy with the new-c… Trying, I thought, to set it up o… I went to show you how to make it…
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,
BROWN lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores In winter after half-past three. And many must have seen him make
The land was ours before we were t… She was our land more than a hundr… Before we were her people. She wa… In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England’s, still colo…
He gave the solid rail a hateful k… From far away there came an answer… And then another tick. He knew th… His hate had roused an engine up t… He wished when he had had the trac…
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...
'You know Orion always comes up s… Throwing a leg up over our fence o… And rising on his hands, he looks… Busy outdoors by lantern-light wit… I should have done by daylight, an…
Two fairies it was On a still summer day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked
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…
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
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?
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…