Amy Lowell Poems

If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.
...

Slipping softly through the sky
Little horned, happy moon,
Can you hear me up so high?
Will you come down soon?
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'T is you that are the music, not your song.
The song is but a door which, opening wide,
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,
Your spirit's harmony, which clear and strong
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The snow whispers around me
And my wooden clogs
Leave holes behind me in the snow.
But no one will pass this way
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Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
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Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign
To put upon the cover of this book?
Who heard thee singing in the distance dim,
The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood,
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Leisure, thou goddess of a bygone age,
When hours were long and days sufficed to hold
Wide-eyed delights and pleasures uncontrolled
By shortening moments, when no gaunt presage
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All day long I have been working,
Now I am tired
I call: "Where are you?"
But there is only the oak-tree rustling in the wind.
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Always we are following a light,
Always the light recedes; with groping hands
We stretch toward this glory, while the lands
We journey through are hidden from our sight
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You -- you --
Your shadow is sunlight on a plate of silver;
Your footsteps, the seeding-place of lilies;
Your hands moving, a chime of bells across a windless air.
...