#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
How many million Aprils came Before I ever knew How white a cherry bough could be, A bed of squills, how blue. And many a dancing April
(To Eleonora Duse) We are anhungered after solitude, Deep stillness pure of any speech… Soft quiet hovering over pools pro… The silences that on the desert br…
My heart has grown rich with the p… I have less need now than when I… To share myself with every comer Or shape my thoughts into words wi… It is one to me that they come or…
(For a picture by Duncan Walker) Lady, light in the east hangs low, Draw your veils of dream apart, Under the casement stands Pierrot Making a song to ease his heart.
My heart is heavy with many a song Like ripe fruit bearing down the t… But I can never give you one— My songs do not belong to me. Yet in the evening, in the dusk
Love in my heart was a fresh tide… Where the starlike sea gulls soar; The sun was keen and the foam was… High on the rocky shore. But now in the dusk the tide is tu…
Here in the velvet stillness The wide sown fields fall to the f… Sleeping in starlight. . . . A year ago we walked in the jangli… Together . . . . forgetful.
Two knights rode forth at early da… A-seeking maids to wed, Said one, “My lady must be fair, With gold hair on her head.” Then spake the other knight-at-arm…
Why did you bring me here? The sand is white with snow, Over the wooden domes The winter sea-winds blow— There is no shelter near,
A wind is blowing over my soul, I hear it cry the whole night thro… Is there no peace for me on earth Except with you? Alas, the wind has made me wise,
When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes,
In my heart the old love Struggled with the new, It was ghostly waking All night through. Dear things, kind things
IN the silver light after a storm… Under dripping boughs of bright ne… I take the low path to hear the me… Alone and high-hearted as if I we… What have I to fear in life or de…
I must have passed the crest a whi… And now I am going down— Strange to have crossed the crest… But the brambles were always grabb… All the morning I thought how pro…
Oh flower-sweet face and bended fl… Oh violet whose purple cannot pale… Or forest fragrance ever faint or… Or breath and beauty pass among th… Yea, very truly has the poet said,