Amy Levy

(1861 - 10 September 1889 / London)

Amy Levy Poems

1. A Wall Flower 1/3/2003
2. To Clementina Black 1/3/2003
3. To E. 1/3/2003
4. On The Threshold 1/3/2003
5. In The Nower 1/3/2003
6. To Lallie (Outside The British Museum.) 1/1/2004
7. Philosophy 1/3/2003
8. The Piano-Organ 1/3/2003
9. The Old Poet 1/3/2003
10. The Sick Man And The Nightingale 1/3/2003
11. In September 1/3/2003
12. On The Wye In May 1/3/2003
13. Sonnet 1/3/2003
14. The End Of The Day 1/3/2003
15. The First Extra 1/3/2003
16. The Sequel To A Reminiscence 1/3/2003
17. Impotens 1/3/2003
18. Translated From Geibel 1/3/2003
19. Lohengrin 1/3/2003
20. In The Night 1/3/2003
21. The Promise Of Sleep 1/3/2003
22. Cambridge In The Long 1/3/2003
23. In The Mile End Road 1/3/2003
24. June 1/3/2003
25. A Reminiscence 1/3/2003
26. Christopher Found 1/3/2003
27. Ralph To Mary 1/3/2003
28. Out Of Town 1/3/2003
29. To Death 1/3/2003
30. A Dirge 1/3/2003
31. Sinfonia Eroica 1/3/2003
32. The Old House 1/3/2003
33. Run To Death 1/3/2003
34. Twilight 1/3/2003
35. Oh, Is It Love? 1/3/2003
36. To Vernon Lee 1/3/2003
37. Youth And Love 1/3/2003
38. London Poets 1/3/2003
39. The Two Terrors 1/3/2003
40. The Last Judgment 1/3/2003

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Best Poem of Amy Levy

A March Day In London

The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,
Which chills the flesh to aches and pains,
And sends a fever through all the veins.

From end to end, with aimless feet,
All day long have I paced the street.
My limbs are weary, but in my breast
Stirs the goad of a mad unrest.
I would give anything to stay
The little wheel that turns in my brain;
The little wheel that turns all day,
That turns all night with might and main.

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On The Threshold

O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
Up to your chamber-door, which stood ajar,
And in the doorway watched you from afar,
Nor dared advance to kiss your lips and brow.
I had no part nor lot in you, as now;
Death had not broken between us the old bar;

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