Amy Lowell

(9 February 1874 – 12 May 1925 / Boston, Massachusetts)

Amy Lowell Poems

1. A Poet's Wife 4/14/2015
2. On The Mantelpiece 4/16/2015
3. Red slippers 4/17/2015
4. Fireworks 11/14/2015
5. The Congressional Library 1/17/2015
6. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
7. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 4/16/2010
8. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
9. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
10. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
11. The Hammers 4/16/2010
12. Fringed Gentians 1/3/2003
13. The Pond 12/2/2003
14. Free Fantasia On Japanese Themes 4/16/2010
15. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
16. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010
17. J--K. Huysmans 1/3/2003
18. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010
19. Reaping 4/16/2010
20. Bullion 4/16/2010
21. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
22. In Answer To A Request 4/16/2010
23. Convalescence 4/16/2010
24. The Road To Avignon 1/3/2003
25. Miscast I 4/16/2010
26. Epitaph In A Church-Yard In Charleston, South Carolina 1/3/2003
27. The Boston Athenaeum 4/16/2010
28. Late September 4/16/2010
29. Off The Turnpike 4/16/2010
30. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
31. Flute-Priest Song For Rain 4/16/2010
32. Malmaison 4/16/2010
33. The Grocery 4/16/2010
34. November 4/16/2010
35. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
36. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
37. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
38. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
39. Obligation 4/16/2010
40. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Amy Lowell

Patterns

I walk down the garden-paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jeweled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden-paths.
My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink ...

Read the full of Patterns

Loon Point

Softly the water ripples
Against the canoe's curving side,
Softly the birch trees rustle
Flinging over us branches wide.

Softly the moon glints and glistens
As the water takes and leaves,
Like golden ears of corn
Which fall from loose-bound sheaves,

[Report Error]