The Cremona Violin (Amy Lowell Poem)
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
History has to live with what was here, clutching and close to fumbling all we had-- it is so dull ...
Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale ...
Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, ...
Is this everything now, the quick delusions of flowers, And the down colors of the bright summer meadow, The soft ...
DEVOUTEST of my Sunday friends, The patient Organ-blower bends; I see his figure sink and rise, (Forgive me, Heaven, my ...
To be put on the train and kissed and given my ticket, Then the station slid backward, the shops and ...
in the shadow of the flower is the sting the bee driven by need uses its painful gift to keep ...
The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling In a dim library, just behind the chair From which the ancient ...
A fall on the ice, two plus year ago a concave spot, in my left hip, where it once was ...
Lancaster bore him--such a little town, Such a great man. It doesn't see him often Of late years, though he ...
1) Sleeping birds, lead me, soft birds, be me inside this black room, back of the white moon. In the ...
When I see you, who were so wise and cool, Gazing with silly sickness on that fool You've given your ...
I imagine Nice and topless beaches, women smoking and reading novels in the sun. I pretend I am comfortable undressing ...
A pencil, sir; a penny -- won't you buy? I'm cold and wet and tired, a sorry plight; Don't turn ...
I Flat as a drum-head stretch the haggard snows; The mighty skies are palisades of light; The stars are blurred; ...
Who is the happy husband? Why, indeed, 'Tis he who's useless in the time of need; Who, asked to unclasp ...
Frost apple on a knotted whirling bough of dark becoming where it cannot be. So much both for the soil ...
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares ...
Chorus -- Bonnie Helen, will you go to Callander with me And gaze upon its beauties and romantic scenery Dear ...
I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick, Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm, Weak from the noon-day heat. ...
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