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

Comments about Amy Lowell

  • Dhanush (9/16/2018 8:25:00 PM)

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  • Priti (8/7/2018 12:52:00 PM)

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  • 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

A Little Song

When you, my Dear, are away, away,
How wearily goes the creeping day.
A year drags after morning, and night
Starts another year of candle light.
O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon!
Grant me, I beg of you, this boon.

Whirl round the earth as never sun
Has his diurnal journey run.

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