Amy Lowell

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

Amy Lowell Poems

161. Spring Day 4/16/2010
162. Lilacs 4/16/2010
163. The Pleiades 1/3/2003
164. Aubade 1/3/2003
165. The Painted Ceiling 1/3/2003
166. September, 1918 4/16/2010
167. The Giver Of Stars 4/16/2010
168. Sea Shell 4/16/2010
169. The Shadow 4/16/2010
170. The Captured Goddess 4/16/2010
171. Sword Blades And Poppy Seed 4/16/2010
172. Autumn 1/3/2003
173. A Winter Ride 1/3/2003
174. The Taxi 1/3/2003
175. Storm-Racked 4/16/2010
176. The Garden By Moonlight 1/3/2003
177. Happiness 4/16/2010
178. Falling Snow 1/3/2003
179. Opal 1/13/2003
180. Patience 4/16/2010
181. A Gift 4/16/2010
182. A Japanese Wood-Carving 1/3/2003
183. Epitaph Of A Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success 4/16/2010
184. Hero-Worship 1/3/2003
185. The Letter 1/13/2003
186. Petals 1/3/2003
187. A Tale Of Starvation 4/16/2010
188. Dreams 1/3/2003
189. A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M. 1/20/2003
190. Music 4/16/2010
191. New York At Night 1/3/2003
192. Apology 1/4/2003
193. A Little Song 1/3/2003
194. Aftermath 1/3/2003
195. A Fairy Tale 1/3/2003
196. Decade 1/3/2003
197. The Wind 1/3/2003
198. To A Friend 1/3/2003
199. A Lady 1/4/2003
200. Patterns 1/3/2003

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

A Little Song

When you, my Dear, are away, away,
How wearily goes the creeping day.
A year drags after morning, and night
Starts another year of candle light.
O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon!
Grant me, I beg of you, this boon.

Whirl round the earth as never sun
Has his diurnal journey run.

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