Amy Levy

(1861 - 10 September 1889 / London)

Amy Levy Poems

1. A Wall Flower 1/3/2003
2. To Clementina Black 1/3/2003
3. To E. 1/3/2003
4. Sonnet 1/3/2003
5. On The Threshold 1/3/2003
6. In The Nower 1/3/2003
7. To Lallie (Outside The British Museum.) 1/1/2004
8. Philosophy 1/3/2003
9. The Piano-Organ 1/3/2003
10. The Old Poet 1/3/2003
11. In September 1/3/2003
12. The Sick Man And The Nightingale 1/3/2003
13. Oh, Is It Love? 1/3/2003
14. On The Wye In May 1/3/2003
15. The End Of The Day 1/3/2003
16. The First Extra 1/3/2003
17. The Sequel To A Reminiscence 1/3/2003
18. Impotens 1/3/2003
19. Translated From Geibel 1/3/2003
20. Lohengrin 1/3/2003
21. Sinfonia Eroica 1/3/2003
22. In The Night 1/3/2003
23. Run To Death 1/3/2003
24. The Promise Of Sleep 1/3/2003
25. Cambridge In The Long 1/3/2003
26. In The Mile End Road 1/3/2003
27. June 1/3/2003
28. A Reminiscence 1/3/2003
29. Christopher Found 1/3/2003
30. The Birch-Tree At Loschwitz 1/3/2003
31. Ralph To Mary 1/3/2003
32. Out Of Town 1/3/2003
33. To Death 1/3/2003
34. A Dirge 1/3/2003
35. The Old House 1/3/2003
36. Twilight 1/3/2003
37. To Vernon Lee 1/3/2003
38. Youth And Love 1/3/2003
39. London Poets 1/3/2003
40. The Two Terrors 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Amy Levy

London In July

What ails my senses thus to cheat?
What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
Should wear one woman's face?

The London trees are dusty-brown
Beneath the summer sky;
My love, she dwells in London town,
Nor leaves it in July.

O various and intricate maze,
Wide waste of square and street;
Where, missing through unnumbered days,
We twain at last may meet!

And who cries out on crowd and mart?
Who prates of stream and sea?
The summer in the city's heart--
That is enough for me.

Read the full of London In July

A Game Of Lawn Tennis

What wonder that I should be dreaming
Out here in the garden to-day?
The light through the leaves is streaming,--
Paulina cries, "Play!"

The birds to each other are calling,
The freshly-cut grasses smell sweet;
To Teddy's dismay, comes falling
The ball at my feet.

[Hata Bildir]