#AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize #1936 #AFurtherRange
Seek not in me the big I capital, Not yet the little dotted in me se… If I have in me any I at all, 'Tis the iota subscript of the Gr… So small am I as an attention beg…
It was long I lay Awake that night Wishing that night Would name the hour And tell me whether
She had no saying dark enough For the dark pine that kept Forever trying the window latch Of the room where they slept. The tireless but ineffectual hands
You were forever finding some new… So when I saw you down on hands a… In the meadow, busy with the new-c… Trying, I thought, to set it up o… I went to show you how to make it…
What tree may not the fig be gathe… The grape may not be gathered from… It’s all you know the grape, or kn… As a girl gathered from the birch… Equally with my weight in grapes,…
A voice said, Look me in the star… And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth…
EVEN the bravest that are slain Shall not dissemble their surprise On waking to find valor reign, Even as on earth, in paradise; And where they sought without the…
The sound of the closing outside d… You made no sound in the grass wit… As far as you went from the door,… But you had awakened under the mor… The first song-bird that awakened…
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.
A bird half wakened in the lunar n… Sang half way through its little i… Partly because it sang but once al… And that from no especial bush’s h… Partly because it sang ventriloqui…
Her teacher’s certainty it must be… Made Maple first take notice of h… She asked her father and he told h… Maple is right.’ ‘But teacher told the school
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…
Love and forgetting might have car… A little further up the mountain s… With night so near, but not much f… They must have halted soon in any… With thoughts of a path back, how…
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;
There were three in the meadow by… Gathering up windrows, piling hayc… With an eye always lifted toward t… Where an irregular, sun-bordered c… Darkly advanced with a perpetual d…
