#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1942 #AWitnessTree
One thing has a shelving bank, Another a rotting plank, To give it cozier skies And make up for its lack of size. My own strategic retreat
#1936 #AFurtherRange
When the wind works against us in the da… And pelts with snow The lowest chamber window on the east, And whispers with a sort of stifled bark… The beast,
#1913 #ABoy'sWill
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking th… Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
#1914 #NorthOfBoston
Once when the snow of the year was begin… We stopped by a mountain pasture to say… A little Morgan had one forefoot on the… The other curled at his breast. He dipp… And snorted at us. And then he had to b…
#1923 #NewHampshire
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?
Four or five whippoorwills Have come down from their native ledge To the open country edge To give us a piece of their bills. Two in June were a pair—
#1942 #AWitnessTree
Wind the season-climate mixer In my Witches’ Weather Primer Says to make this Fall Elixir First you let the summer simmer, Using neither spoon nor skimmer,
A lantern light from deeper in the barn Shone on a man and woman in the door And threw their lurching shadows on a ho… Near by, all dark in every glossy window… A horse’s hoof pawed once the hollow flo…
It was too lonely for her there, And too wild, And since there were but two of them, And no child, And work was little in the house,
He has dust in his eyes and a fan for a… A leg akimbo with which he can sing, And a mouthful of dye stuff instead of a…
There’s a place called Far-away Meadow We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhouse: The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flowers
#1928 #WestRunningBrook
I stay; But it isn’t as if There wasn’t always Hudson’s Bay And the fur trade, A small skiff
Age saw two quiet children Go loving by at twilight, He knew not whether homeward, Or outward from the village, Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
Square Matthew Hale’s young grafted app… Began to blossom at the age of five; And after having entertained the bee, And cast its flowers and all the stems b… It set itself to keep those three alive;
Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.