#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
Send out the singers—let the room… They have not eased my pain nor br… Close out the sun, for I would ha… That I may feel how black the gra… The sun is setting, for the light…
Out of the delicate dream of the d… Veiled in the violet folds of the… Softly the dream grows awakening—s… Splashes of crimson, the gay bouga… High in the infinite blue of its h…
Now while my lips are living Their words must stay unsaid, And will my soul remember To speak when I am dead? Yet if my soul remembered
The April night is still and swee… With flowers on every tree; Peace comes to them on quiet feet, But not to me. My peace is hidden in his breast
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…
The roofs are shining from the rai… The sparrows tritter as they fly, And with a windy April grace The little clouds go by. Yet the back-yards are bare and br…
I have remembered beauty in the ni… Against black silences I waked to… A shower of sunlight over Italy And green Ravello dreaming on her… I have remembered music in the dar…
Mary sat in the corner dreaming, Dim was the room and low, While in the dusk, the saw went sc… To and fro. Jesus and Joseph toiled together,
IF I must go to heaven’s end Climbing the ages like a stair, Be near me and forever bend With the same eyes above me there; Time will fly past us like leaves…
If I could have your arms tonight… But half the world and the broken… Lie between you and me. The autumn rain reverberates in th… Beating all night against the barr…
The wind is tossing the lilacs, The new leaves laugh in the sun, And the petals fall on the orchard… But for me the spring is done. Beneath the apple blossoms
I lift my heart as spring lifts up A yellow daisy to the rain; My heart will be a lovely cup Altho’ it holds but pain. For I shall learn from flower and…
No one worth possessing Can be quite possessed; Lay that on your heart, My young angry dear; This truth, this hard and precious…
For W. P. The little park was filled with pe… The walks were carpeted with snow, But every iron gate was locked. Lest if we entered, peace would go…
“She can’t be unhappy,” you said, “The smiles are like stars in her… And her laughter is thistledown Around her low replies.” “Is she unhappy?” you said—