Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

121. Suggested By The Cover Of A Volume Of Keats's Poems 1/3/2003
122. Summer 1/3/2003
123. Sunshine Through A Cobwebbed Window 4/16/2010
124. Sword Blades And Poppy Seed 4/16/2010
125. Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H. 1/3/2003
126. The Allies 4/16/2010
127. The Artist 4/16/2010
128. The Basket 4/16/2010
129. The Blue Scarf 4/16/2010
130. The Bombardment 4/16/2010
131. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
132. The Boston Athenaeum 4/16/2010
133. The Bungler 1/3/2003
134. The Captured Goddess 4/16/2010
135. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
136. The Congressional Library 1/17/2015
137. The Country House 4/16/2010
138. The Cremona Violin 4/16/2010
139. The Crescent Moon 1/3/2003
140. The Cross-Roads 4/16/2010
141. The Cyclists 4/16/2010
142. The Dinner-Party 4/16/2010
143. The End 1/3/2003
144. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
145. The Fool Errant 1/3/2003
146. The Foreigner 4/16/2010
147. The Forsaken 4/16/2010
148. The Fruit Garden Path 1/3/2003
149. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
150. The Garden By Moonlight 1/3/2003
151. The Giver Of Stars 4/16/2010
152. The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck 4/16/2010
153. The Green Bowl 1/3/2003
154. The Grocery 4/16/2010
155. The Hammers 4/16/2010
156. The Lamp Of Life 1/3/2003
157. The Last Quarter Of The Moon 4/16/2010
158. The Letter 1/13/2003
159. The Little Garden 1/3/2003
160. The Matrix 1/3/2003
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,

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