Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

161. The Painted Ceiling 1/3/2003
162. The Painter On Silk 4/16/2010
163. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
164. The Pike 4/16/2010
165. The Pleiades 1/3/2003
166. The Poet 1/3/2003
167. The Pond 12/2/2003
168. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
169. The Promise Of The Morning Star 1/3/2003
170. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
171. The Road To Avignon 1/3/2003
172. The Shadow 4/16/2010
173. The Starling 1/3/2003
174. The Taxi 1/3/2003
175. The Temple 4/16/2010
176. The Travelling Bear 4/16/2010
177. The Tree Of Scarlet Berries 4/16/2010
178. The Trout 1/3/2003
179. The Way 1/3/2003
180. The Wind 1/3/2003
181. Thompson’s Lunch Room—grand Central Station 4/16/2010
182. To A Friend 1/3/2003
183. To A Husband 4/16/2010
184. To An Early Daffodil 1/3/2003
185. To Elizabeth Ward Perkins 1/3/2003
186. To John Keats 1/3/2003
187. To-Morrow To Fresh Woods And Pastures New 4/16/2010
188. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
189. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
190. Two Travellers In The Place Vendome 4/16/2010
191. Venetian Glass 1/3/2003
192. Venus Transiens 1/3/2003
193. Vintage 4/16/2010
194. White And Green 4/16/2010
195. White Currants 1/3/2003
196. Wind 4/16/2010
197. Women's Harvest Song 1/3/2003
198. Women's Song Of The Corn 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,

[Hata Bildir]