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Amy Lowell

Little hot apples of fire,Burst out of the flaming stemOf my heart,I do not understand how you quickened and grew.And you amaze meWbile I gather you. I lay you, one by one,Upon a table.And now you seem beautiful and strange to me,And I stand before you,Wondering. — Amy Lowell, from “Flame Apples,” Pictures of the… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Amy Lowell

Apples of Hesperides Glinting golden through the trees,Apples of Hesperides!Through the moon-pierced warp of nightShoot pale shafts of yellow light,Swaying to the kissing breezeSwings the treasure, golden-gleaming,Apples of Hesperides! Far and lofty yet they glimmer,Apples of Hesperides!Blinded by their radiant shimmer,Pushing forward just for these;Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,Always thinking soon to seizeAnd possess the… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Amy Lowell

Little hot apples of fire,Burst out of the flaming stemOf my heart,I do not understand how you quickened and grew.And you amaze meWbile I gather you. I lay you, one by one,Upon a table.And now you seem beautiful and strange to me,And I stand before you,Wondering. — Amy Lowell, from “Flame Apples,” Pictures of the… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Amy Lowell

In the cloud-grey morningsI heard the herons flying;And when I came into my garden,My silken outer-garmentTrailed over withered leaves.A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,But I have seen many AutumnsWith herons blowing like smokeAcross the sky. — Amy Lowell, “Hoar-Frost,” Pictures of the Floating World, (The Macmillan Company, 1919).

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Amy Lowell

Vernal Equinox The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies    between me and my book;    And the South Wind, washing through the room,    Makes the candles quiver.    My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,    And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots            Outside, in the night.  … Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry

Amy Lowell

What is poetry? Is it a mosaicOf coloured stones which curiously are wroughtInto a pattern? Rather glass that’s taughtBy patient labor any hue to takeAnd glowing with a sumptuous splendor, makeBeauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught,Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraughtWith storied meaning for religion’s sake. — Amy Lowell, “Fragment,” A Dome… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry · Reference

Amy Lowell

Tell me,Was Venus more beautifulThan you are,When she toppedThe crinkled waves,Drifting shorewardOn her plaited shell?Was Botticelli’s visionFairer than mine;And were the painted rosebudsHe tossed his lady,Of better worthThan the words I blow about youTo cover your too great lovelinessAs with a gauzeOf misted silver? For me,You stand poisedIn the blue and buoyant air,Cinctured by bright… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry · Reference

Amy Lowell

My thoughtsChink against my ribsAnd roll about like silver hail-stones.I should like to spill them out,And pour them, all shining,Over you.But my heart is shut upon themAnd holds them straitly. Come, You! and open my heart;That my thoughts torment me no longer,But glitter in your hair. — Amy Lowell, “Bullion,” Imagist Poetry: An Anthology. Ed.… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Imagism · Modernism · Poetry · Reference

Amy Lowell

Why do the lilies goggle their tongues at meWhen I pluck them;And writhe, and twist,And strangle themselves against my fingers,So that I can hardly weave the garlandFor your hair?Why do they shriek your nameAnd spit at meWhen I would cluster them?Must I kill themTo make them lie still,And send you a wreath of lolling corpsesTo… Continue reading Amy Lowell

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