Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

121. Prayer For A Profusion Of Sunflowers 1/3/2003
122. The Trout 1/3/2003
123. Climbing 1/3/2003
124. Prayer For Lightning 1/3/2003
125. A Tale Of Starvation 4/16/2010
126. Diya 1/3/2003
127. To Elizabeth Ward Perkins 1/3/2003
128. Venetian Glass 1/3/2003
129. Roads 1/3/2003
130. Hora Stellatrix 1/3/2003
131. The Poet 1/3/2003
132. Aliens 4/16/2010
133. Basket Dance 1/3/2003
134. White Currants 1/3/2003
135. The Way 1/3/2003
136. Crowned 1/3/2003
137. Music 4/16/2010
138. Hoar-Frost 1/3/2003
139. Women's Song Of The Corn 1/3/2003
140. A Poet's Wife 4/14/2015
141. The Green Bowl 1/3/2003
142. To John Keats 1/3/2003
143. The Bungler 1/3/2003
144. Song 1/3/2003
145. Carrefour 1/3/2003
146. A Blockhead 4/16/2010
147. A Lover 4/16/2010
148. In Darkness 1/3/2003
149. The Starling 1/3/2003
150. The Lamp Of Life 1/3/2003
151. Madonna Of The Evening Flowers 1/3/2003
152. Suggested By The Cover Of A Volume Of Keats's Poems 1/3/2003
153. Venus Transiens 1/3/2003
154. The Crescent Moon 1/3/2003
155. To An Early Daffodil 1/3/2003
156. In Excelsis 1/3/2003
157. Fatigue 1/3/2003
158. Azure And Gold 1/3/2003
159. Summer 1/3/2003
160. The Fruit Garden Path 1/3/2003

Comments about Amy Lowell

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  • Priti (8/7/2018 12:52:00 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

Apology

Be not angry with me that I bear
   Your colours everywhere,
   All through each crowded street,
   And meet
   The wonder-light in every eye,
   As I go by.

Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
   Blinded by rainbow haze,

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