#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
“She can’t be unhappy,” you said, “The smiles are like stars in her… And her laughter is thistledown Around her low replies.” “Is she unhappy?” you said—
If I should see your eyes again, I know how far their look would go… Back to a morning in the park With sapphire shadows on the snow. Or back to oak trees in the spring
I turned the key and opened wide t… To enter my deserted room again, Where thro’ the long hot months th… Was it not lonely when across the… No step was heard, no sudden song…
When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips; That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings
Your lines that linger for us down… Like sparks that tell the glory of… Still keep alight the splendor of… And living still, they sting us in… Sole perfect singer that the world…
Wind and hail and veering rain, Driven mist that veils the day, Soul’s distress and body’s pain, I would bear you while I may. I would love you if I might,
(To Eleonora Duse) We are anhungered after solitude, Deep stillness pure of any speech… Soft quiet hovering over pools pro… The silences that on the desert br…
When the horns wear thin And the noise, like a garment outw… Falls from the night, The tattered and shivering night, That thinks she is gay;
A thousand miles beyond this sun-s… Somewhere the waves creep cool alo… The ebbing tide forsakes the listl… With the old murmur, long and musi… The windy waves mount up and curve…
HOW many times we must have met Here on the street as strangers do… Children of chance we were, who pa… The door of heaven and never knew.
Oh, there are eyes that he can see… And hands to make his hands rejoic… But to my lover I must be Only a voice. Oh, there are breasts to bear his…
Shall we, too, rise forgetful from… And shall my soul that lies within… Remember nothing, as the blowing s… Forgets the palm where long blue s… When winds along the darkened dese…
How many million Aprils came Before I ever knew How white a cherry bough could be, A bed of squills, how blue. And many a dancing April
When I have ceased to break my wi… Against the faultiness of things, And learned that compromises wait Behind each hardly opened gate, When I have looked Life in the ey…
Child, child, love while you can The voice and the eyes and the sou… Never fear though it break your he… Out of the wound new joy will star… Only love proudly and gladly and w…