#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me… My thoughts of you are golden coin… Stamped in the mint of memory; And I must spend them all in song…
Wind and hail and veering rain, Driven mist that veils the day, Soul’s distress and body’s pain, I would bear you while I may. I would love you if I might,
When beauty grows too great to bea… How shall I ease me of its ache, For beauty more than bitterness Makes the heart break. Now while I watch the dreaming se…
I gave my life to another lover, I gave my love, and all, and all— But over a dream the past will hov… Out of a dream the past will call. I tear myself from sleep with a sh…
ATOMS as old as stars, Mutation on mutation, Millions and millions of cells Dividing yet still the same, From air and changing earth,
Your face is set against a fervent… Before the thirsty hills that seve… Return the sun’s hot glory, gold o… Where Agamemnon and Cassandra lie… Your eyes are blind whose light sh…
I sang my songs for the rest, For you I am still; The tree of my song is bare On its shining hill. For you came like a lordly wind,
IN the pull of the wind I stand,… On the deck of a ship, rising, fal… Wild night around me, wild water u… Whipped by the storm, screaming an… Earth is hostile and the sea hosti…
I have loved hours at sea, gray ci… The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill,
“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.” Said the wind from out the south,
Like some rare queen of old romanc… Who loved the gleam of helm and la… Is she. A harper of King Arthur’s days Should praise her in a hundred lay…
He trod the earth but yesterday, And now he treads the stars. He left us in the April time He praised so often in his rhyme, He left the singing and the lyre a…
INTO my heart’s treasury I slipped a coin That time cannot take Nor a thief purloin,— Oh better than the minting
Lyric night of the lingering Indi… Shadowy fields that are scentless… Never a bird, but the passionless… Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far of…
The city’s all a-shining Beneath a fickle sun, A gay young wind’s a-blowing, The little shower is done. But the rain-drops still are cling…