Amy Lowell

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

At Night - Poem by Amy Lowell

The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals. No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
Gone is her gentler music; with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas,
These elemental, loud necessities
Which call to her to answer their swift might.
Above the tossing trees shines down a star,
Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour. And my mind,
O Star! is filled with your white light, from far,
So suffer me this one night to enjoy
The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.


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Read poems about / on: july, star, freedom, wind, music, summer, song, joy, night, light, tree



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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