#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury
IN the moonlight under a shag-bar… Watching the yellow shadows melt i… Listening to the yes and the no of… I kept my guess why the night was… The night was lit with a woman’s e…
THE SEA is large. The sea hold on a leg of land in t… Five white houses on a half-mile s… Not so long ago … the sea was larg… And to-day the sea has lost nothin…
AM I the river your white birds f… Are you the green valley my silver… The two of us a bowl of blue sky d… Who picked you out of the first great whirl of no…
I was born in the morning of the w… So I know how morning looks morning in the valley wanting, morning on a mountain wanting. Morning looks like people look,
Mamie Riley married Jimmy Higgins last night: Eddie Jones died of whooping cough: George Hacks got a job on the police force: the Rosenheims bought a brass bed: Lena Hart giggled at a j...
MY people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray… I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.
Tall timber stood here once, hee o… Here the roots of a half-mile of t… Then the axemen came and the chips… Dynamite, wagons, and horses took… It would come hard now for this ha…
STRONG rocks hold up the riksdag bridge... always strong river waters shoving their shoulders against them... In the riksdag to-night three hundred men are talking to each other about m...
THE Government—I heard about th… I went out to find it. I said I w… it when I saw it. Then I saw a policeman dragging a… the callaboose. It was the Govern…
JOY... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door...
MANY birds and the beating of wi… Make a flinging reckless hum In the early morning at the rocks Above the blue pool Where the gray shadows swim lazy.
I AM a hoodlum, you are a hoodlum… I hate and kill better men than I… In the ends of my fingers the itch… This is the hate my father gave me… Let us go on, brother hoodlums, le…
Drum on your drums, batter on your… sob on the long cool winding saxop… Go to it, O jazzmen. Sling your knuckles on the bottoms… tin pans, let your trombones ooze,…
FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late ...
YOU never come back. I say good-by when I see you goin… The hopeless open doors that call… And take you then for—how many cen… How many cents for the sleepy eyes…