#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
SO long as my spirit still Is glad of breath And lifts its plumes of pride In the dark face of death; While I am curious still
REDBIRDS, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know; Redbud, buckberry,
When Love was born I think he lay Right warm on Venus’ breast, And whiles he smiled and whiles wo… And whiles would take his rest. But always, folded out of sight,
Impassioned singer of the happy ti… When all the world was waking into… And dew still glistened on the tan… And lingered on the branches of th… Oh peerless singer of the golden r…
It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, But only a hush of the heart
When I can make my thoughts come… To walk like ladies up and down, Each one puts on before the glass Her most becoming hat and gown. But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
Heaven-invading hills are drowned In wide moving waves of mist, Phlox before my door are wound In dripping wreaths of amethyst. Ten feet away the solid earth
When beauty grows too great to bea… How shall I ease me of its ache, For beauty more than bitterness Makes the heart break. Now while I watch the dreaming se…
Lyric night of the lingering Indi… Shadowy fields that are scentless… Never a bird, but the passionless… Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far of…
With the man I love who loves me… I walked in the street-lamps’ flar… We watched the world go home that… In a flood through Union Square. I leaned to catch the words he sai…
Before a lonely shrine Of foam-born Aphrodite, Ungarlanded of vine, Undyed by dripping wine, I brought green bay to twine,
It will not change now After so many years; Life has not broken it With parting or tears; Death will not alter it,
Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the ta… Where the window-lights, myriads a… Bloom from the walls like climbing…
I sang my songs for the rest, For you I am still; The tree of my song is bare On its shining hill. For you came like a lordly wind,
I have loved hours at sea, gray ci… The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill,