#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night come… But let there never be curtain dra… Between you and me. Vague dream-head lifted out of the…
In the thick of a teeming snowfall I saw my shadow on snow. I turned and looked back up at the… Where we still look to ask the why Of everything below.
That far-off day the leaves in fli… Were letting in the colder light. A season-ending wind there blew That as it did the forest strew I leaned on with a singing trust
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf.
The witch that came (the withered… To wash the steps with pail and ra… Was once the beauty Abishag, The picture pride of Hollywood. Too many fall from great and good
Come with rain, O loud Southweste… Bring the singer, bring the nester… Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow—bank steam; Find the brown beneath the white;
Out walking in the frozen swamp on… I paused and said, 'I will turn b… No, I will go on farther—and we s… The hard snow held me, save where… One foot went through. The view w…
Love has earth to which she clings With hills and circling arms about… Wall within wall to shut fear out. But Thought has need of no such t… For Thought has a pair of dauntle…
Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.
It went many years, But at last came a knock, And I thought of the door With no lock to lock. I blew out the light,
The Voice said, “Hurl her down!” The Voices, “How far down?” “Seven levels of the world.” “How much time have we?” “Take twenty years.
It is getting dark and time he dre… But the blizzard blinds him to any… The storm gets down his neck in an… That sucks his breath like a wicke… The snow blows on him and off him,…
Where had I heard this wind befor… Change like this to a deeper roar? What would it take my standing the… Holding open a restive door, Looking down hill to a frothy shor…
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…
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…
