#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women #XXCentury
Being Young and Green, I said in… Never in the world will I to livi… Give over, air my mind To anyone, Hang out its ancient secrets in th…
If I were to walk this way Hand in hand with Grief, I should mark that maple-spray Coming into leaf. I should note how the old burrs
Ho, Giant! This is I! I have built me a bean-stalk into… La,—but it’s lovely, up so high! This is how I came,—I put Here my knee, there my foot,
Cherish you then the hope I shall… At length, my lord, Pieria?—put a… For your so passing sake, this mou… These mortal bones against my body… For all the puny fever and frail s…
And what are you that, wanting you… I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you…
I will put Chaos into fourteen li… And keep him there; and let him th… If he be lucky; let him twist, and… Flood, fire, and demon—his adroit… Will strain to nothing in the stri…
When we are old and these rejoicin… Are frosty channels to a muted str… And out of all our burning their r… No feeblest spark to fire us, even… This be our solace: that it was no…
Man alive, that mournst thy lot, Desiring what thou hast not got, Money, beauty, love, what not; Deeming it blesseder to be A rotted man, than live to see
Read by the poet at The Public C… of Arts and Letters at Carnegie… Great Muse, that from this hall a… Hast never been, Great Muse of Song,
Minstrel, what have you to do With this man that, after you, Sharing not your happy fate, Sat as England’s Laureate? Vainly, in these iron days,
Be to her, Persephone, All the things I might not be: Take her head upon your knee. She that was so proud and wild, Flippant, arrogant and free,
Mine is a body that should die at… And have for a grave, instead of a… Six feet deep and the length of me… All the water that is under the wa… And terrible fishes to seize my fl…
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty… Let all who prate of Beauty hold… And lay them prone upon the earth… To ponder on themselves, the while… At nothing, intricately drawn nowh…
(Vassar College, 1918) O, loveliest throat of all sweet t… Where now no more the music is, With hands that wrote you little n… I write you little elegies!
Love is not all: it is not meat no… Nor slumber nor a roof against the… Nor yet a floating spar to men tha… And rise and sink and rise and sin… Love can not fill the thickened lu…