#AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
It is blue-butterfly day here in s… And with these sky-flakes down in… There is more unmixed color on the… Than flowers will show for days un… But these are flowers that fly and…
Dust always blowing about the town… Except when sea—fog laid it down, And I was one of the children tol… Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high
The old dog barks backwards withou… I can remember when he was a pup.
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…
He is that fallen lance that lies… That lies unlifted now, come dew,… But still lies pointed as it ploug… If we who sight along it round the… See nothing worthy to have been it…
Something there is that doesn’t lo… That sends the frozen—ground—swell… And spills the upper boulders in t… And makes gaps even two can pass a… The work of hunters is another thi…
If heaven were to do again, And on the pasture bars, I leaned to line the figures in Between the dotted stars, I should be tempted to forget,
(Microscopic) A speck that would have been benea… On any but a paper sheet so white Set off across what I had written… And I had idly poised my pen in a…
I came an errand one cloud-blowing… To a slab-built, black-paper-cover… Of one room and one window and one… The only dwelling in a waste cut o… A hundred square miles round it in…
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 house had gone to bring again To the midnight sky a sunset glow. Now the chimney was all of the hou… Like a pistil after the petals go The barn opposed across the way,
No speed of wind or water rushing… But you have speed far greater. Y… Back up a stream of radiance to th… And back through history up the st… And you were given this swiftness,…
By June our brook’s run out of so… Sought for much after that, it wil… Either to have gone groping underg… (And taken with it all the Hyla b… That shouted in the mist a month a…
The rain to the wind said, ‘You push and I’ll pelt.’ They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged– though not dead.
Out through the fields and the woo… And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and desce… I have come by the highway home,
