Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

81. Madonna Of The Evening Flowers 1/3/2003
82. Malmaison 4/16/2010
83. March Evening 1/3/2003
84. Market Day 1/3/2003
85. Middle Age 4/16/2010
86. Mirage 1/3/2003
87. Miscast I 4/16/2010
88. Miscast Ii 4/16/2010
89. Monadnock In Early Spring 1/3/2003
90. Music 4/16/2010
91. New York At Night 1/3/2003
92. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
93. Nightmare: A Tale For An Autumn Evening 4/16/2010
94. November 4/16/2010
95. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010
96. Number 3 On The Docket 4/16/2010
97. Obligation 4/16/2010
98. Off The Turnpike 4/16/2010
99. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
100. On The Mantelpiece 4/16/2015
101. Opal 1/13/2003
102. Patience 4/16/2010
103. Patterns 1/3/2003
104. Penumbra 4/16/2010
105. Petals 1/3/2003
106. Pickthorn Manor 4/16/2010
107. Prayer For A Profusion Of Sunflowers 1/3/2003
108. Prayer For Lightning 1/3/2003
109. Reaping 4/16/2010
110. Red slippers 4/17/2015
111. Reflections 4/16/2010
112. Roads 1/3/2003
113. Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris 4/16/2010
114. Sea Shell 4/16/2010
115. September, 1918 4/16/2010
116. Solitaire 4/16/2010
117. Song 1/3/2003
118. Spring Day 4/16/2010
119. Storm-Racked 4/16/2010
120. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 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

A Little Song

When you, my Dear, are away, away,
How wearily goes the creeping day.
A year drags after morning, and night
Starts another year of candle light.
O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon!
Grant me, I beg of you, this boon.

Whirl round the earth as never sun
Has his diurnal journey run.

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