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 Congressional Library 1/17/2015
4. A Poet's Wife 4/14/2015
5. The Camellia Tree of Matsue 8/9/2016
6. Fireworks 11/14/2015
7. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
8. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
9. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
10. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 4/16/2010
11. Fringed Gentians 1/3/2003
12. Free Fantasia On Japanese Themes 4/16/2010
13. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
14. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
15. J--K. Huysmans 1/3/2003
16. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010
17. The Hammers 4/16/2010
18. The Road To Avignon 1/3/2003
19. Miscast I 4/16/2010
20. Epitaph In A Church-Yard In Charleston, South Carolina 1/3/2003
21. Off The Turnpike 4/16/2010
22. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
23. Flute-Priest Song For Rain 4/16/2010
24. Malmaison 4/16/2010
25. November 4/16/2010
26. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
27. Bullion 4/16/2010
28. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
29. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
30. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
31. Fool's Money Bags 4/16/2010
32. In Answer To A Request 4/16/2010
33. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010
34. The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck 4/16/2010
35. Crepuscule Du Matin 1/3/2003
36. Pickthorn Manor 4/16/2010
37. Convalescence 4/16/2010
38. Middle Age 4/16/2010
39. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
40. Two Travellers In The Place Vendome 4/16/2010
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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