Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

1. Fringed Gentians 1/3/2003
2. J--K. Huysmans 1/3/2003
3. On Carpaccio's Picture 1/3/2003
4. Women's Harvest Song 1/3/2003
5. Epitaph In A Church-Yard In Charleston, South Carolina 1/3/2003
6. The Boston Athenaeum 4/16/2010
7. The Exeter Road 4/16/2010
8. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
9. A Poet's Wife 4/14/2015
10. On The Mantelpiece 4/16/2015
11. Red slippers 4/17/2015
12. Fireworks 11/14/2015
13. The Camellia Tree of Matsue 8/9/2016
14. The Congressional Library 1/17/2015
15. The Coal Picker 4/16/2010
16. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
17. The Road To Avignon 1/3/2003
18. Flute-Priest Song For Rain 4/16/2010
19. Free Fantasia On Japanese Themes 4/16/2010
20. Malmaison 4/16/2010
21. Miscast I 4/16/2010
22. Off The Turnpike 4/16/2010
23. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 4/16/2010
24. Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H. 1/3/2003
25. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
26. Venetian Glass 1/3/2003
27. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010
28. The Promise Of The Morning Star 1/3/2003
29. Frankincense And Myrrh 1/3/2003
30. The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck 4/16/2010
31. The Grocery 4/16/2010
32. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
33. Basket Dance 1/3/2003
34. Prayer For Lightning 1/3/2003
35. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
36. The Artist 4/16/2010
37. The Basket 4/16/2010
38. Obligation 4/16/2010
39. Reaping 4/16/2010
40. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010

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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

Loon Point

Softly the water ripples
Against the canoe's curving side,
Softly the birch trees rustle
Flinging over us branches wide.

Softly the moon glints and glistens
As the water takes and leaves,
Like golden ears of corn
Which fall from loose-bound sheaves,

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