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. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
8. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
9. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
10. The Hammers 4/16/2010
11. Fringed Gentians 1/3/2003
12. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
13. Free Fantasia On Japanese Themes 4/16/2010
14. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
15. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010
16. J--K. Huysmans 1/3/2003
17. Reaping 4/16/2010
18. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010
19. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
20. In Answer To A Request 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. Malmaison 4/16/2010
31. The Grocery 4/16/2010
32. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
33. Bullion 4/16/2010
34. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
35. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
36. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
37. Obligation 4/16/2010
38. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
39. Fool's Money Bags 4/16/2010
40. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010

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Best Poem of Amy Lowell

A Japanese Wood-Carving

High up above the open, welcoming door
It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim.
Once, long ago, it was a waving tree
And knew the sun and shadow through the leaves
Of forest trees, in a thick eastern wood.
The winter snows had bent its branches down,
The spring had swelled its buds with coming flowers,
Summer had run like fire through its veins,
While autumn pelted it with chestnut burrs,
And strewed the leafy ground with acorn cups.
Dark midnight storms had roared and crashed among
Its branches, breaking here and there a limb;
But every now ...

Read the full of A Japanese Wood-Carving

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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