#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #LesbianWriters #PulitzerPrize
Tang of fruitage in the air; Red boughs bursting everywhere; Shimmering of seeded grass; Hooded gentians all a’mass. Warmth of earth, and cloudless win…
O You, Who came upon me once Stretched under apple-trees just a… Why did you not strangle me before… Rather than fill me with the wild…
Before the Altar, bowed, he stand… With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrifici… Not one of all these has he given,
Always we are following a light, Always the light recedes; with gro… We stretch toward this glory, whil… We journey through are hidden from… Dim and mysterious, folded deep in…
Outside the long window, With his head on the stone sill, The dog is lying, Gazing at his Beloved. His eyes are wet and urgent,
Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp and cutti… It hurts.
I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue s… I walk down the patterned garden p… In my stiff, brocaded gown.
Cold, wet leaves Floating on moss-coloured water And the croaking of frogs— Cracked bell-notes in the twilight…
A great tall column spearing at th… With a little man on top. Goodnes… He looks a silly thing enough to s… What a strange fellow, like a sold… Tight-fitting coat with the tails…
You came to me bearing bright rose… Red like the wine of your heart; You twisted them into a garland To set me aside from the mart. Red roses to crown me your lover,
Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shu… A storm was rising, heavy gusts of… Swirled through the trees, and sca… Her on the clean, flagged path. T… The distant town was black, and sh…
A Minstrel stands on a marble sta… Blown by the bright wind, debonair… Below lies the sea, a sapphire flo… Above on the terrace a turret door Frames a lady, listless and wan,
The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of… A tree, at the end of my arm, is h… Even so, I can see that it has re… A scarlet fruit,
Dance! Dance! The priest is yellow with sunflowe… He is yellow with corn-meal, He is yellow as the sun.
Slipping softly through the sky Little horned, happy moon, Can you hear me up so high? Will you come down soon? On my nursery window-sill
