The Basket (Amy Lowell Poem)
I The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted, in the round of light thrown ...
I The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted, in the round of light thrown ...
How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
The wind is singing through the trees to-night, A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences And crashing intervals. No summer breeze ...
As one who sails upon a wide, blue sea Far out of sight of land, his mind intent Upon the ...
On winter nights beside the nursery fire We read the fairy tale, while glowing coals Builded its pictures. There before ...
Of all the songs which poets sing The ones which are most sweet Are those which at close intervals A ...
I love the evenings, passionless and fair, I love the evens, Whether old manor-fronts their ray with golden fulgence leavens, ...
Thousand minstrels woke within me, "Our music's in the hills; "- Gayest pictures rose to win me, Leopard-colored rills. Up!-If ...
Man was made of social earth, Child and brother from his birth; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood through ...
The Trees like Tassels -- hit -- and swung -- There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying ...
The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals -- The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize The ...
Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange ...
PART I On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall, And roofless homes, a sad remembrance ...
Scene--A spacious drawing-room, with music-room adjoining. Katharine. What are the words ? Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore ; here ...
PREFACE If---and the thing is wildly possible---the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief ...
Dedication Inscribed to a dear Child: in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea. Girt with ...
Fair was the evening and brightly the sun Was shining on desert and grove, Sweet were the breezes and balmy ...
I Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep ...
NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ...
Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in ...
Ten years together without yet a cloud, They seek each other's eyes at intervals Of gratefulness to firelight and four ...
After two sittings, now our Lady State To end her picture does the third time wait. But ere thou fall'st ...
I. The storm that snapped our fate's one ship in twain Hath blown my half o' the wreck from thine ...
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