Poems by Amy Lowell

Swept, clean, and still, across the polished floor
From some unshuttered casement, hid from ...

High up above the open, welcoming door
It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim.
Once, lon...

I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day!
A steely silver, underlined with blue,
And f...

I pray to be the tool which to your hand
Long use has shaped and moulded till it b...

Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dr...

I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills....

Be patient with you?
When the stooping sky
Leans down upon the hills
And tenderly, as one who...

There was a man
Who made his living
By painting roses
Upon silk. He sat in an upper cha...

Within the gold square of the proscenium arch,
A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds,...

It was a gusty night,
With the wind booming, and swooping,
Looping round corners,
Sliding ...

My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson seeds
And dripping them on the ground.
M...

Cloud-topped and splendid, dominating all
The little lesser hills which compass thee,
Thou st...

The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the roun...

A near horizon whose sharp jags
Cut brutally into a sky
Of leaden heaviness, and...

Hold your apron wide
That I may pour my gifts into it,
So that scarcely shall your two arms hi...