The Swans (Amy Lowell Poems)
The swans float and float Along the moat Around the Bishop's garden, And the white clouds push Across a blue ...
The swans float and float Along the moat Around the Bishop's garden, And the white clouds push Across a blue ...
You — you — Your shadow is sunlight on a plate of silver; Your footsteps, the seeding-place of lilies; Your ...
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind ...
I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade, So keen that it nicks off the floating ...
Good ev'nin', Mis' Priest. I jest stepped in to tell you Good-bye. Yes, it's all over. All my things is ...
How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life, A spatter of rust on its polished steel! The seasons reel ...
All night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years ...
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
A music-stand of crimson lacquer, long since brought In some fast clipper-ship from China, quaintly wrought With bossed and carven ...
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind ...
Thou dear and well-loved haunt of happy hours, How often in some distant gallery, Gained by a little painful spiral ...
I How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there, beyond the high wall! How ...
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
I The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted, in the round of light thrown ...
You want to know what's the matter with me, do yer? My! ain't men blinder'n moles? It ain't nothin' new, ...
Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, ...
"`I can't get out', said the starling." Sterne's `Sentimental Journey'. Forever the impenetrable wall Of self confines my poor rebellious ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life And his gaze wandered up and his gaze wandered down, A ...
Softly the water ripples Against the canoe's curving side, Softly the birch trees rustle Flinging over us branches wide. Softly ...
Fish "So . . ." they said, With their wine-glasses delicately poised, Mocking at the thing they cannot understand. "So ...
You ask me for a sonnet. Ah, my Dear, Can clocks tick back to yesterday at noon? Can cracked and ...
Paul Jannes was working very late, For this watch must be done by eight To-morrow or the Cardinal Would certainly ...
I have been temperate always, But I am like to be very drunk With your coming. There have been times ...
A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran ...
Leisure, thou goddess of a bygone age, When hours were long and days sufficed to hold Wide-eyed delights and pleasures ...
The wind is singing through the trees to-night, A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences And crashing intervals. No summer breeze ...
'T is you that are the music, not your song. The song is but a door which, opening wide, Lets ...
August 14th, 1914 Into the brazen, burnished sky, the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry of hoarse throats, it floats ...
The nursery fire burns brightly, crackling in cheerful little explosions and trails of sparks up the back of the chimney. ...
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