Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

1. On The Mantelpiece 4/16/2015
2. Red slippers 4/17/2015
3. Fireworks 11/14/2015
4. The Camellia Tree of Matsue 8/9/2016
5. The Congressional Library 1/17/2015
6. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 4/16/2010
7. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
8. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
9. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
10. The Hammers 4/16/2010
11. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
12. Fringed Gentians 1/3/2003
13. The Pond 12/2/2003
14. Free Fantasia On Japanese Themes 4/16/2010
15. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
16. J--K. Huysmans 1/3/2003
17. Reaping 4/16/2010
18. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010
19. Bullion 4/16/2010
20. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
21. Convalescence 4/16/2010
22. The Road To Avignon 1/3/2003
23. Miscast I 4/16/2010
24. Epitaph In A Church-Yard In Charleston, South Carolina 1/3/2003
25. The Boston Athenaeum 4/16/2010
26. Late September 4/16/2010
27. Off The Turnpike 4/16/2010
28. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
29. Flute-Priest Song For Rain 4/16/2010
30. The Grocery 4/16/2010
31. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010
32. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
33. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
34. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
35. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
36. Obligation 4/16/2010
37. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
38. Fool's Money Bags 4/16/2010
39. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010
40. The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck 4/16/2010

Comments about Amy Lowell

  • Dhanush (9/16/2018 8:25:00 PM)

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    0 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Priti (8/7/2018 12:52:00 PM)

    I like this poem very much .i like

  • Deepanshu zinder (6/19/2018 11:07:00 PM)

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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

Opal

You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.


Submitted by Venus

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