#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
I. Off Gilbatrar BEYOND the sleepy hills of Spai… The sun goes down in yellow mist, The sky is fresh with dewy stars Above a sea of amethyst.
What do I care, in the dreams and… That my songs do not show me at al… For they are a fragrance, and I a… I am an answer, they are only a ca… But what do I care, for love will…
After a year I came again to the… The tireless lights and the reverb… The angry thunder of trains that b… The hunted, hurrying people were s… But oh, another man beside me and…
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,
Fairy snow, fairy snow, Blowing, blowing everywhere, Would that I Too, could fly Lightly, lightly through the air.
Your face is set against a fervent… Before the thirsty hills that seve… Return the sun’s hot glory, gold o… Where Agamemnon and Cassandra lie… Your eyes are blind whose light sh…
Fields beneath a quilt of snow From which the rocks and stubble s… And in the west a shy white star That shivers as it wakes from deep… The restless rumble of the train,
(The daughter of Sappho) When the dusk was wet with dew, Cleïs, did the muses nine Listen in a silent line While your mother sang to you?
You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams
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
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…
When I went to look at what had l… A jewel laid long ago in a secret… I trembled, for I thought to see… But only a pinch of dust blew up i… I almost gave my life long ago for…
AT six o’clock of an autumn dusk With the sky in the west a rusty r… The bells of the mission down in t… Cry out that the day is dead. The first star pricks as sharp as…
To-night I close my eyes and see A strange procession passing me— The years before I saw your face Go by me with a wistful grace; They pass, the sensitive shy years…
There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I for you. You were the wind and I the sea -
