#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XXCentury
For the sake of some things That be now no more I will strew rushes On my chamber-floor, I will plant bergamot
O world, I cannot hold thee close… Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists that roll and rise! Thy woods this autumn day, that ac… And all but cry with colour! That…
“Thin Rain, whom are you haunting… That you haunt my door?” —Surely it is not I she’s wanting… Someone living here before— “Nobody’s in the house but me:
The room is full of you!—As I cam… And closed the door behind me, all… A something in the air, intangible… Yet stiff with meaning, struck my… Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destr…
Give away her gowns, Give away her shoes; She has no more use For her fragrant gowns; Take them all down,
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty… Let all who prate of Beauty hold… And lay them prone upon the earth… To ponder on themselves, the while… At nothing, intricately drawn nowh…
All I could see from where I stoo… Was three long mountains and a woo… I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line
I thought, as I wiped my eyes on… Penelope did this too. And more than once: you can’t keep… And undoing it all through the nig… Your arms get tired, and the back…
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide,
“Son,” said my mother, When I was knee-high, “You’ve need of clothes to cover y… And not a rag have I. “There’s nothing in the house
Think not, not for a moment let yo… Wearied with thinking, doze upon t… That the work’s done and the long… And beauty, since 'tis paid for, c… If in the moonlight from the silen…
Well, I have lost you; and I lost… In my own way, and with my full co… Say what you will, kings in a tumb… Went to their deaths more proud th… Some nights of apprehension and ho…
To what purpose, April, do you re… Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with th… Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know.
Let you not say of me when I am o… In pretty worship of my withered h… Forgetting who I am, and how the… Of such a life as mine run red and… Even to the ultimate sifting dust,…
When we are old and these rejoicin… Are frosty channels to a muted str… And out of all our burning their r… No feeblest spark to fire us, even… This be our solace: that it was no…
