American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

Amy Lowell

The Letter Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper Like draggled fly’s legs, What can you tell of the flaring moon Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncertain window and the bare floor Spattered with moonlight? Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them Of blossoming hawthorns, And this paper is dull,… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

Amy Lowell

Must all of worth be travailled for, and those Life’s brightest stars rise from a troubled sea? Must years go by in sad uncertainty Leaving us doubting whose the conquering blows, Are we or Fate the victors? Time which shows All inner meanings will reveal, but we Shall never know the upshot. Ours to be… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

Amy Lowell

Petals Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

Amy Lowell

I ask but one thing of you, only one,That always you will be my dream of you;That never shall I wake to find untrueAll this I have believed and rested on,Forever vanished, like a vision goneOut into the night. Alas, how fewThere are who strike in us a chord we knewExisted, but so seldom heard… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

Amy Lowell

September, 1918 This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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