American poet (1874-1925)
For books are more than books, they are the life
The very heart and core of ages past,
The reason why men lived and worked and died,
The essence and quintessence of their lives.
AMY LOWELL
"The Boston Athenæum", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
Oh! To be a flower
Nodding in the sun,
Bending, then upspringing
As the breezes run.
AMY LOWELL
"Song", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
A man must be sacrificed now and again
To provide for the next generation of men.
AMY LOWELL
A Critical Fable
Without poetry the soul and heart of man starves and dies.
AMY LOWELL
Poetry and Poets: Essays
Happiness: We rarely feel it.
I would buy it, beg it, steal it,
Pay in coins of dripping blood
For this one transcendent good.
AMY LOWELL
"Happiness", Sword Blades and Poppy Seed
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.
AMY LOWELL
"Opal", Pictures of the Floating World
Great emotion always tends to become rhythmic, and out of that tendency the forms of art have been evolved. Art becomes artificial only when the forms take precedence over the emotion.
AMY LOWELL
Tendencies in Modern Poetry
Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
AMY LOWELL
"Petals", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
AMY LOWELL
Tendencies in Modern American Poetry
Now you are come! You tremble like a star
Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set.
Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb
And mute, I have no tones to answer.
AMY LOWELL
"Frankincense and Myrrh", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you
AMY LOWELL
"The Letter", Pictures of the Floating World
When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
AMY LOWELL
"Decade"
When trying to explain anything, I usually find that the Bible, that great collection of magnificent and varied poetry, has said it before in the best possible way.
AMY LOWELL
Poetry and Poets: Essays
All recurring joy is pain refined.
AMY LOWELL
"A Fixed Idea", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
What lackeys men are, who might be such fine fellows!
To be killing each other, unmercifully,
At an order, as though one said, "Bring up the tea."
AMY LOWELL
"A Ballad of Footmen"
Taking us by and large, we're a queer lot
We women who write poetry. And when you think
How few of us there've been, it's queerer still.
I wonder what it is that makes us do it,
Singles us out to scribble down, man-wise,
The fragments of ourselves.
AMY LOWELL
"The Sisters"
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
AMY LOWELL
John Keats
Beneath this sod lie the remains
Of one who died of growing pains.
AMY LOWELL
"Epitaph of a Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success", Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds
You lie upon my heart as on a nest,
Folded in peace, for you can never know
How crushed I am with having you at rest
Heavy upon my life.
AMY LOWELL
"A Fixed Idea", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
Witches are moon-birds,
Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
AMY LOWELL
"Witch-Woman"