Amy Lowell

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

Poems of Amy Lowell

181. To John Keats 1/3/2003
182. To-Morrow To Fresh Woods And Pastures New 4/16/2010
183. Towns in Colour 4/16/2010
184. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
185. Two Travellers in the Place Vendome 4/16/2010
186. Venetian Glass 1/3/2003
187. Venus Transiens 1/3/2003
188. Vintage 4/16/2010
189. White And Green 4/16/2010
190. White Currants 1/3/2003
191. Wind 4/16/2010
192. Women's harvest song 1/3/2003
193. Women's song of the corn 1/3/2003

Mirage

How is it that, being gone, you fill my days,
And all the long nights are made glad by thee?
No loneliness is this, nor misery,
But great content that these should be the ways
Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as she strays,
Makes bright and present what she would would be.
And who shall say if the reality
Is not with dreams so pregnant. For delays
And hindrances may bar the wished-for end;

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