#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1928 #WestRunningBrook
Dust always blowing about the town, Except when sea—fog laid it down, And I was one of the children told Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high
#1928 #WestRunningBrook
Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too… And the daft sun—assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled or de… Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!)
#1913 #ABoy'sWill
First under up and then again down under… We watch a circus of revolving dogs No senator dares in to kick asunder Lest both should bite him in the toga-to…
#1942 #AWitnessTree
As I have known them passionate and fin… The gold for which they leave the golden… Of lyric is a golden light divine, Never the gold of darkness from a mine. The spirit plays us strange religious pr…
Before man to blow to right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night In any rough place where it caught. Man came to tell it what was wrong:
#1923 #NewHampshire
It went many years, But at last came a knock, And I thought of the door With no lock to lock. I blew out the light,
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
But Islands of the Blessèd, bless you s… I never came upon a blessèd one.
She drew back; he was calm: “It is this that had the power.” And he lashed his open palm With the tender-headed flower. He smiled for her to smile,
Some things are never clear. But the weather is clear tonight, Thanks to a clearing rain. The mountains are brought up near, The stars are brought out bright.
#1936 #AFurtherRange
My unexpected knocking at the door Started chairs thundering on the kitchen… Knives and forks ringing on the supper p… Voices conflicting like the candidates. A mighty farmer flung the house door wid…
There is a singer everyone has heard, Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks sound ag… He says that leaves are old and that for… Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
#1916 #MountainInterval
EVEN the bravest that are slain Shall not dissemble their surprise On waking to find valor reign, Even as on earth, in paradise; And where they sought without the sword
Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me. Vague dream-head lifted out of the groun…
He would declare and could himself belie… That the birds there in all the garden r… From having heard the daylong voice of… Had added to their own an oversound, Her tone of meaning but without the word…
