Author: Amy Lowell

A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran […]

Sea Shell, Sea Shell, Sing me a song, O Please! A song of ships, and sailor men, And parrots, and […]

How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to […]

Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign To put upon the cover of this book? Who heard thee […]

The stars hang thick in the apple tree, The south wind smells of the pungent sea, Gold tulip cups are […]

Always we are following a light, Always the light recedes; with groping hands We stretch toward this glory, while the […]

Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered Over with silver, brocaded In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with […]

A bullet through his heart at dawn. On The table a letter signed With a woman’s name. A wind that […]

Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits of days Ticked off upon a clock […]

Life! Austere arbiter of each man’s fate, By whom he learns that Nature’s steadfast laws Are as decrees immutable; O […]

Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain I hear your words in mournful cadence toll Like some slow passing-bell which […]

First Movement Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp […]

When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum. I call out for you against […]

Cross-ribboned shoes; a muslin gown, High-waisted, girdled with bright blue; A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown She pluckered […]

I The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies White and unspotted, In the round of light thrown […]

Bath The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is A smell of tulips and narcissus In the air. The […]

Written after reading Trevelyan’s “Garibaldi And the making of Italy” Poor foolish monarch, vacillating, vain, Decaying victim of a race […]

I will mix me a drink of stars, Large stars with polychrome needles, Small stars jetting maroon and crimson, Cool, […]

How should I sing when buffeting salt waves And stung with bitter surges, in whose might I toss, a cockleshell? […]

Within the gold square of the proscenium arch, A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds, Its tassels jarring […]