Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

41. Pickthorn Manor 4/16/2010
42. Middle Age 4/16/2010
43. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
44. Two Travellers In The Place Vendome 4/16/2010
45. In A Castle 4/16/2010
46. Miscast Ii 4/16/2010
47. Sunshine Through A Cobwebbed Window 4/16/2010
48. Lead Soldiers 4/16/2010
49. The Basket 4/16/2010
50. The Cross-Roads 4/16/2010
51. Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris 4/16/2010
52. Reflections 4/16/2010
53. The Cremona Violin 4/16/2010
54. Haunted 4/16/2010
55. Stupidity 4/16/2010
56. September, 1918 4/16/2010
57. The Blue Scarf 4/16/2010
58. November 4/16/2010
59. Late September 4/16/2010
60. The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde 4/16/2010
61. The Cyclists 4/16/2010
62. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010
63. Vintage 4/16/2010
64. Solitaire 4/16/2010
65. The Pike 4/16/2010
66. The Travelling Bear 4/16/2010
67. The Forsaken 4/16/2010
68. Grotesque 4/16/2010
69. Number 3 On The Docket 4/16/2010
70. The Artist 4/16/2010
71. The Country House 4/16/2010
72. Thompson’s Lunch Room—grand Central Station 4/16/2010
73. Penumbra 4/16/2010
74. Spring Day 4/16/2010
75. The Temple 4/16/2010
76. The Painter On Silk 4/16/2010
77. The Last Quarter Of The Moon 4/16/2010
78. Sword Blades And Poppy Seed 4/16/2010
79. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
80. The Tree Of Scarlet Berries 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

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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