Amy Lowell
Youth condemns; maturity condonesCollection: Maturity
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.Collection: Hands
To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.Collection: Life
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.Collection: Running
If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.Collection: Fire
I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.Collection: Soul
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.Collection: Blood
When trying to explain anything, I usually find that the Bible, that great collection of magnificent and varied poetry, has said it before in the best possible way.Collection: Trying
A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.Collection: Sweet
Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.Collection: Rose
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.Collection: Self
Even pain pricks to livelier living.Collection: Pain
On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns; maturity condones.Collection: Maturity
Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.Collection: Broken Heart
Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?Collection: Inspirational
I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.Collection: Lying
How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree; The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips; The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?Collection: Beautiful
Only those of our poets who kept solidly to the Shakespearean tradition achieved any measure of success. But Keats was the last great exponent of that tradition, and we all know how thin, how lacking in charm, the copies of Keats have become.Collection: Lasts
May is much sunshine through small leaves.Collection: Sunshine
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!Collection: Art
Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry Wheels out into the sunlight.Collection: Wall