Amy Levy Poems
|42.||Oh, Is It Love?||1/3/2003|
|43.||A Game Of Lawn Tennis||1/3/2003|
|44.||Youth And Love||1/3/2003|
|45.||A Cross-Road Epitaph||1/3/2003|
|46.||The Lost Friend||1/3/2003|
|47.||Straw In The Street||1/3/2003|
|49.||Ballade Of An Omnibus||1/3/2003|
|50.||Felo De Se||1/3/2003|
|53.||The Village Garden||1/3/2003|
|54.||At A Dinner Party||1/3/2003|
|57.||A June-Tide Echo||1/3/2003|
|58.||To A Dead Poet||1/3/2003|
|59.||The Birch-Tree At Loschwitz||1/3/2003|
|60.||In The Black Forest||1/3/2003|
|61.||A Greek Girl||1/3/2003|
|65.||London In July||1/3/2003|
|66.||A London Plane-Tree||1/3/2003|
|67.||A Minor Poet||1/3/2003|
|69.||Ballade Of A Special Edition||1/3/2003|
|72.||In A Minor Key||1/3/2003|
|73.||New Love, New Life||1/3/2003|
|74.||A March Day In London||1/3/2003|
Comments about 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.
What is the ...
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;