Nuit Blanche (Amy Lowell Poems)
I want no horns to rouse me up to-night, And trumpets make too clamorous a ring To fit my mood, ...
Amy Lowell Poems on Running (16 Poems)
Pickthorn Manor (Amy Lowell Poem)
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
Malmaison (Amy Lowell Poem)
I How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there, beyond the high wall! How ...
The Great Adventure of Max Breuck (Amy Lowell Poem)
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
The Bombardment (Amy Lowell Poem)
Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, ...
The Hammers (Amy Lowell Poem)
I Frindsbury, Kent, 1786 Bang! Bang! Tap! Tap-a-tap! Rap! All through the lead and silver Winter days, All through the ...
The Blue Scarf (Amy Lowell Poem)
Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with ...
The Paper Windmill (Amy Lowell Poem)
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of ...
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, ...
In a Garden (Amy Lowell Poem)
Gushing from the mouths of stone men To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble ...
1777 (Amy Lowell Poem)
I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats ...
A Roxbury Garden (Amy Lowell Poem)
I Hoops Blue and pink sashes, Criss-cross shoes, Minna and Stella run out into the garden To play at hoop. ...
Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (Amy Lowell Poem)
A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran ...
Song (Amy Lowell Poem)
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run; Holding up A scent-brimmed ...
A Winter Ride (Amy Lowell Poem)
Who shall declare the joy of the running! Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight! Springing and spurning the ...
A Little Song (Amy Lowell Poem)
When you, my Dear, are away, away, How wearily goes the creeping day. A year drags after morning, and night ...