#1923 #AmericanWriters #NewHampshire #PulitzerPrize
We sit indoors and talk of the col… And every gust that gathers streng… Is a threat to the house. But the… We think of the tree. If it never… We’ll know, we say, that this was…
No ship of all that under sail or… Have gathered people to us more an… But Pilgrim-manned the Mayflower… Has been her anxious convoy in to…
Love has earth to which she clings With hills and circling arms about… Wall within wall to shut fear out. But Thought has need of no such t… For Thought has a pair of dauntle…
This saying good-bye on the edge o… And cold to an orchard so young in… Reminds me of all that can happen… An orchard away at the end of the… All winter, cut off by a hill from…
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart
If tires of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn, To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. There amid loggin juniper reclined, Myself unseen, I see in w...
The well was dry beside the door, And so we went with pail and can Across the fields behind the house To seek the brook if still it ran; Not loth to have excuse to go,
Careless and still The hunter lurks With gun depressed, Facing alone The alder swamps
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,
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
BROWN lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores In winter after half-past three. And many must have seen him make
I said to myself almost in prayer, It will start hair raising current… When you give it the livid metal-s… It will make a homicidal roar. It will shake its cast stone reef…
Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil
As far as I can see this autumn h… That spreading in the evening air… Makes the new moon look anything b… And pours the elm-tree meadow full… Is all the smoke from one poor hou…
God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden