#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
Dreamily over the roofs The cold spring rain is falling, Out in the lonely tree A bird is calling, calling. Slowly over the earth
(In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.) HE was a soldier in that fight Where there is neither flag nor dr… And without sound of musketry The stealthy foemen come.
I heard a cry in the night, A thousand miles it came, Sharp as a flash of light, My name, my name! It was your voice I heard,
INTO my heart’s treasury I slipped a coin That time cannot take Nor a thief purloin,— Oh better than the minting
Oh would I were the roses, that l… The heavy burning roses she touche… Dear hands that hold the roses, wh… Oh leave, oh leave the roses, and… She draws the heart from out them,…
Bring me the roses white and red, And take the laurel leaves away; Yea, wreathe the roses round my he… That wearies ‘neath the crown of b… ’We searched the wintry forests th…
I WATCH the great clear twiligh… Veiling the ice-bowed trees; Their branches tinkle faintly With crystal melodies. The larches bend their silver
I built a little House of Dreams, And fenced it all about, But still I heard the Wind of Tr… That roared without. I laid a fire of Memories
WAVES are the sea’s white daught… And raindrops the children of rain… But why for my shimmering body Have I a mother like Pain? Night is the mother of stars,
I have come the selfsame path To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there Burning as before While I watch them in the wind
OUT of the noise of tired people… Harried with thoughts of war and l… His beauty met me like a fresh win… Clean boyish beauty and high-held… Eyes that told secrets, lips that…
BOWED as an elm under the weight… So earth is bowed, under her weigh… Molten sea, richness of leaves and… Bronze of sea-grasses. Clefts in the cliff shelter the pu…
Oh, because you never tried To bow my will or break my pride, And nothing of the cave-man made You want to keep me half afraid, Nor ever with a conquering air
WHEN they see my songs They will sigh and say, ‘Poor soul, wistful soul, Lonely night and day.’ They will never know
Was that his step that sounded on… Was that his knock I heard upon t… I grow so tired I almost cease to… And yet I would that he might com… It was the wind I heard, that moc…