#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1928 #WestRunningBrook
A stolen lady was coming on board, But whether stolen from her wedded… Or from her own self against her w… Was not set forth in the lading bi… A stolen lady was all it said.
To start the world of old We had one age of gold Not labored out of mines, And some say there are signs The second such has come,
Will the blight end the chestnut? The farmers rather guess not. It keeps smouldering at the roots And sending up new shoots Till another parasite
Let the downpour roil and toil! The worst it can do to me Is carry some garden soil A little nearer the sea. ’Tis the world-old way of the rain
The Voice said, “Hurl her down!” The Voices, “How far down?” “Seven levels of the world.” “How much time have we?” “Take twenty years.
What tree may not the fig be gathe… The grape may not be gathered from… It’s all you know the grape, or kn… As a girl gathered from the birch… Equally with my weight in grapes,…
Nothing to say to all those marria… She had made three herself to thre… The score was even for them, three… But come to die she found she care… She thought of children in a buria…
Between two burrs on the map Was a hollow-headed snake. The burrs were hills, the snake wa… And the hollow head was a lake. And the dot in front of a name
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,
A boy, presuming on his intellect, Once showed two little monkeys in… A burning-glass they could not und… And never could be made to underst… Words are no good: to say it was a…
He saw her from the bottom of the… Before she saw him. She was star… Looking back over her shoulder at… She took a doubtful step and then… To raise herself and look again.…
Lancaster bore him—such a little t… Such a great man. It doesn’t see… Of late years, though he keeps the… And sends the children down there… To run wild in the summer—a little…
How countlessly they congregate O’er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as t… When wintry winds do blow!— As if with keenness for our fate,
Always the same, when on a fated n… At last the gathered snow lets dow… As may be in dark woods, and with… It shall not make again all winter… Of hissing on the yet uncovered gr…
He halted in the wind, and– what… Far in the maples, pale, but not a… He stood there bringing March aga… And yet too ready to believe the m… ‘Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom…
