#Americans #PulitzerPrize
As I went out a Crow In a low voice said, 'Oh, I was looking for you. How do you do? I just came to tell you
Over back where they speak of life… ('You couldn’t call it living, for… There was an old, old house renewe… And in it a piano loudly playing. Out in the plowed ground in the co…
An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such.
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
Inscription for a Garden Wall Winds blow the open grassy places… But where this old wall burns a su… They eddy over it too toppling wea… To blow the earth or anything self…
There were three in the meadow by… Gathering up windrows, piling hayc… With an eye always lifted toward t… Where an irregular, sun-bordered c… Darkly advanced with a perpetual d…
I staid the night for shelter at a… Behind the mountain, with a mother… Two old-believers. They did all t… The Mother Folks think a witch who has famili…
My unexpected knocking at the door Started chairs thundering on the k… Knives and forks ringing on the su… Voices conflicting like the candid… A mighty farmer flung the house do…
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.
This saying good-bye on the edge o… And cold to an orchard so young in… Reminds me of all that can happen… An orchard away at the end of the… All winter, cut off by a hill from…
I let myself in at the kitchen doo… ‘It’s you,' she said. 'I can’t ge… Not answering your knock. I can n… Let people in than I can keep the… I’m getting too old for my size,…
Sea waves are green and wet, But up from where they die, Rise others vaster yet, And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land
I felt the chill of the meadow und… But the sun overhead; And snatches of verse and song of… I sung or said. I skirted the margin alders for mi…
The surest thing there is is we ar… And though none too successful at… Through everything presented, land… And now the very air, of what we r… What is this talked-of mystery of…
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...