September, 1918 (Amy Lowell Poems)
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks ...
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks ...
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 ...
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
Now what in the name of the sun and the stars Is the meaning of this most unholy of wars? ...
What torture lurks within a single thought When grown too constant, and however kind, However welcome still, the weary mind ...
I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats ...
Hold your soul open for my welcoming. Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me With its clear and rippled ...
Cross-ribboned shoes; a muslin gown, High-waisted, girdled with bright blue; A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown She pluckered ...
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. ...
A near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of leaden heaviness, and crags Of houses lift their ...
I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down ...
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