#AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize #1916 #MountainInterval
To Time it never seems that he is… To set himself against the peaks o… To lay them level with the running… Nor is he overjoyed when they lie… But only grave, contemplative and…
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…
We asked for rain. It didn’t flas… It didn’t lose its temper at our d… And blow a gale. It didn’t misund… And give us more than our spokesma… And just because we owned to a wis…
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,
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…
When the spent sun throws up its r… And goes down burning into the gul… No voice in nature is heard to cry… At what has happened. Birds, at l… It is the change to darkness in th…
Was there even a cause too lost, Ever a cause that was lost too lon… Or that showed with the lapse of t… For the generous tears of youth an…
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
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…
At the end of the row I stepped on the toe Of an unemployed hoe. It rose in offense And struck me a blow
Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.
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
The line-storm clouds fly tattered… The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones… And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for…
A plow, they say, to plow the snow… They cannot mean to plant it, no— Unless in bitterness to mock At having cultivated rock.
He saw her from the bottom of the… Before she saw him. She was star… Looking back over her shoulder at… She took a doubtful step and then… To raise herself and look again.…