Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

41. In A Time Of Dearth 4/16/2010
42. In Answer To A Request 4/16/2010
43. Diya 1/3/2003
44. To Elizabeth Ward Perkins 1/3/2003
45. Hora Stellatrix 1/3/2003
46. Loon Point 1/3/2003
47. Market Day 1/3/2003
48. A Coloured Print By Shokei 1/3/2003
49. The Fool Errant 1/3/2003
50. Crepuscule Du Matin 1/3/2003
51. Late September 4/16/2010
52. Miscast Ii 4/16/2010
53. Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris 4/16/2010
54. Pickthorn Manor 4/16/2010
55. Bullion 4/16/2010
56. The Country House 4/16/2010
57. The Cyclists 4/16/2010
58. The Paper Windmill 4/16/2010
59. The Hammers 4/16/2010
60. Two Travellers In The Place Vendome 4/16/2010
61. Towns In Colour 4/16/2010
62. Two Lacquer Prints 4/16/2010
63. The Tree Of Scarlet Berries 4/16/2010
64. Thompson’s Lunch Room—grand Central Station 4/16/2010
65. Clear, With Light, Variable Winds 4/16/2010
66. Convalescence 4/16/2010
67. 1777 4/16/2010
68. Leisure 1/3/2003
69. Roads 1/3/2003
70. To John Keats 1/3/2003
71. The Way 1/3/2003
72. The Bungler 1/3/2003
73. Carrefour 1/3/2003
74. The Matrix 1/3/2003
75. After Hearing A Waltz By Bartok 4/16/2010
76. The Cremona Violin 4/16/2010
77. The Cross-Roads 4/16/2010
78. The Blue Scarf 4/16/2010
79. The Allies 4/16/2010
80. The Forsaken 4/16/2010

Comments about Amy Lowell

  • Priti (8/7/2018 12:52:00 PM)

    I like this poem very much .i like

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  • Deepanshu zinder (6/19/2018 11:07:00 PM)

    😍😍😍

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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