#Americans #PulitzerPrize
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-…
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,…
A bird half wakened in the lunar n… Sang half way through its little i… Partly because it sang but once al… And that from no especial bush’s h… Partly because it sang ventriloqui…
But Islands of the Blessèd, bless… I never came upon a blessèd one.
For Lincoln MacVeagh Never tell me that not one star of… That slip from heaven at night and… Has been picked up with stones to… Some laborer found one faded and s…
Something inspires the only cow of… To make no more of a wall than an… And think no more of wall—builders… Her face is flecked with pomace an… A cider syrup. Having tasted frui…
Seek not in me the big I capital, Not yet the little dotted in me se… If I have in me any I at all, 'Tis the iota subscript of the Gr… So small am I as an attention beg…
I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place?
A winter garden in an alder swamp, Where conies now come out to sun a… As near a paradise as it can be And not melt snow or start a dorma… It lifts existence on a plane of s…
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…
As vain to raise a voice as a sigh In the tumult of free leaves on hi… What are you in the shadow of tree… Engaged up there with the light an… Less than the coral-root you know
On glossy wires artistically bent, He draws himself up to his full ex… His natty wings with self-assuranc… His stinging quarters menacingly w… Poor egotist, he has no way of kno…
There’s a patch of old snow in a c… That I should have guessed Was a blow—away paper the rain Had brought to rest. It is speckled with grime as if
Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things,
I advocate a semi-revolution. The trouble with a total revolutio… (Ask any reputable Rosicrucian) Is that it brings the same class u… Executives of skillful execution
