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. Francis Ii, King Of Naples 1/3/2003
7. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
8. The Fruit Shop 4/16/2010
9. The Hammers 4/16/2010
10. Night Clouds 4/6/2015
11. Stravinsky's Three Pieces 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. Bullion 4/16/2010
17. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
18. In Answer To A Request 4/16/2010
19. Convalescence 4/16/2010
20. Miscast I 4/16/2010
21. Epitaph In A Church-Yard In Charleston, South Carolina 1/3/2003
22. The Boston Athenaeum 4/16/2010
23. Late September 4/16/2010
24. The Precinct. Rochester 4/16/2010
25. Flute-Priest Song For Rain 4/16/2010
26. Malmaison 4/16/2010
27. The Grocery 4/16/2010
28. La Vie De Boheme 4/16/2010
29. The Red Lacquer Music-Stand 4/16/2010
30. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
31. Fool's Money Bags 4/16/2010
32. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010
33. The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck 4/16/2010
34. Crepuscule Du Matin 1/3/2003
35. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
36. Two Travellers In The Place Vendome 4/16/2010
37. In A Castle 4/16/2010
38. Miscast Ii 4/16/2010
39. Sunshine Through A Cobwebbed Window 4/16/2010
40. Nuit Blanche 4/16/2010

Comments about Amy Lowell

  • Dhanush (9/16/2018 8:25:00 PM)

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    0 person liked.
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  • 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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