#1936 #AFurtherRange #AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize
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…
(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…
To drive Paul out of any lumber c… All that was needed was to say to… ‘How is the wife, Paul?’- and he’… Some said it was because be bad no… And hated to be twitted on the sub…
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-…
First under up and then again down… We watch a circus of revolving dog… No senator dares in to kick asunde… Lest both should bite him in the t…
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,
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
I staid the night for shelter at a… Behind the mountain, with a mother… Two old-believers. They did all t… Mother. Folks think a witch who h… She could call up to pass a winter…
There overtook me and drew me in To his down-hill, early-morning st… And set me five miles on my road Better than if he had had me ride, A man with a swinging bag for’load
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…
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
What things for dream there are wh… Moving amond tall haycocks lightly… I enter alone upon the stubbled fi… From which the laborers’ voices la… And in the antiphony of afterglow
I’m going out to clean the pasture… I’ll only stop to rake the leaves… (And wait to watch the water clear… I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come… I’m going out to fetch the little…
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…
The white-tailed hornet lives in a… That floats against the ceiling of… The exit he comes out at like a bu… Is like the pupil of a pointed gun… And having power to change his aim…
