#1942 #AmericanWriters #AWitnessTree #PulitzerPrize
It took that pause to make him rea… The mountain he was climbing had t… As of a book held up before his ey… (And was a text albeit done in pla… Dwarf cornel, gold-thread, and mai…
When I was young my teachers were… I gave up fire for form till I wa… I suffered like a metal being cast… I went to school to age to learn t… Now when I am old my teachers are…
What tree may not the fig be gathe… The grape may not be gathered from… It’s all you know the grape, or kn… As a girl gathered from the birch… Equally with my weight in grapes,…
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
There overtook me and drew me in To his down-hill, early-morning st… And set me five miles on my road Better than if he had had me ride, A man with a swinging bag for load
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fal… To—morrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call;
Two roads diverged in a yellow woo… And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I c… To where it bent in the undergrowt…
But Islands of the Blessèd, bless… I never came upon a blessèd one.
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
No speed of wind or water rushing… But you have speed far greater. Y… Back up a stream of radiance to th… And back through history up the st… And you were given this swiftness,…
A governor it was proclaimed this… When all who would come seeking in… Ancestral memories might come toge… And those of the name Stark gathe… A rock-strewn town where farming h…
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass
Wind the season-climate mixer In my Witches’ Weather Primer Says to make this Fall Elixir First you let the summer simmer, Using neither spoon nor skimmer,
Careless and still The hunter lurks With gun depressed, Facing alone The alder swamps
The surest thing there is is we ar… And though none too successful at… Through everything presented, land… And now the very air, of what we r… What is this talked-of mystery of…