#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
He would declare and could himself… That the birds there in all the ga… From having heard the daylong voic… Had added to their own an oversoun… Her tone of meaning but without th…
The bear puts both arms around the… And draws it down as if it were a… And its choke cherries lips to kis… Then lets it snap back upright in… Her next step rocks a boulder on t…
I love to toy with the Platonic n… That wisdom need not be of Athens… But well may be Laconic, even Boe… At least I will not have it syste…
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,
The farm house lingers, though ave… With the new city street it has to… But what about the brook That held the house as in an elbow… I ask as one who knew the brook, i…
You’ll wait a long, long time for… To happen in heaven beyond the flo… And the Northern Lights that run… The sun and moon get crossed, but… Nor strike out fire from each othe…
The line—storm clouds fly tattered… The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones… And the hoof—prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for…
There sandy seems the golden sky And golden seems the sandy plain. No habitation meets the eye Unless in the horizon rim, Some halfway up the limestone wall…
The city had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to th… When between whirls of snow not co… And whirls of foliage not yet laid… A stranger to our yard, who looked…
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s
The well was dry beside the door, And so we went with pail and can Across the fields behind the house To seek the brook if still it ran; Not loth to have excuse to go,
Old Davis owned a solid mica moun… In Dalton that would someday make… There’d been some Boston people o… And experts said that deep down in… The mica sheets were big as plate-…
God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden
He is said to have been the last… In Action. And the Miller is sai… If you like to call such a sound a… But he gave no one else a laugher’… For he turned suddenly grave as if…
One of my wishes is that those dar… So old and firm they scarcely show… Were not, as ’twere, the merest ma… But stretched away unto the edge o… I should not be withheld but that…
