#AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize #1936 #AFurtherRange
The three stood listening to a fre… Of wind that caught against the ho… Gulped snow, and then blew free ag… Dressed, but dishevelled from some… Meserve belittled in the great ski…
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
‘Fred, where is north?’ ‘North? North is there, my love. The brook runs west.’ ‘West—running Brook then call it.… (West—Running Brook men call it t…
Here further up the mountain slope Than there was every any hope, My father built, enclosed a spring… Strung chains of wall round everyt… Subdued the growth of earth to gra…
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…
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…
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s
Four or five whippoorwills Have come down from their native l… To the open country edge To give us a piece of their bills. Two in June were a pair—
I stole forth dimly in the drippin… Between two downpours to see what… And a masked moon had spread down… To a cone mountain in the midnight… As if the final estimate were hers…
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fal… To—morrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call;
My long two-pointed ladder’s stick… Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’… Beside it, and there may be two or… Apples I didn’t pick upon some bo…
It was long I lay Awake that night Wishing that night Would name the hour And tell me whether
The play seems out for an almost i… Don’t mind a little thing like the… The only I worry about is the sun… We’ll be all right if nothing goes…
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
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…
