Amy Lowell (9 February 1874 – 12 May 1925 / Boston, Massachusetts)
Be not angry with me that I bear
Your colours everywhere,
All through each crowded street,
The wonder-light in every eye,
As I go by.
Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
Blinded by rainbow haze,
The stuff of happiness,
Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
Of peacock golds.
Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
Flushes beneath its gray.
My steps fall ringed with light,
It seems a myriad suns are strown
About the town.
Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
And rich perfumed smells
Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
Me from close contact with the world.
I dwell impearled.
You blazon me with jewelled insignia.
A flaming nebula
Rims in my life. And yet
The word upon me, unconfessed
To go unguessed.
Comments about this poem (Apology by Amy Lowell )
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