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Amy Lowell: Frindsbury, Kent, 1786
Frindsbury, Kent, 1786Bang! Bang! Tap! Tap-a-tap! Rap! All through the lead and silver Winter days, All through the copper of Autumn hazes. Tap to the red rising sun, Tap to the purple…Amy Lowell: Paris, April, 1814
Paris, April, 1814Cold, impassive, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Haughty, contemptuous, the marble arch of the Place du Carrousel. Like a woman raped by force, rising above her…Amy Lowell: Paris, March, 1814
Paris, March, 1814Fine yellow sunlight down the rue du Mont Thabor. Ten o'clock striking from all the clock-towers of Paris. Over the door of a shop, in gilt letters: "Martin — Parfumeur",…Amy Lowell: The City of Falling Leaves
The City of Falling LeavesLeaves fall, Brown leaves, Yellow leaves streaked with brown. They fall, Flutter, Fall again. The brown leaves, And the streaked yellow leaves, Loosen on their…Amy Lowell: The Trumpet-Vine Arbour
The Trumpet-Vine ArbourThe throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight. They bray and blare at the burning sky. Red! Red…Amy Lowell: Crepuscule du Matin
Crepuscule du MatinAll night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years behind has wrought Its disillusion; now I only cry For…Amy Lowell: Monadnock in Early Spring
Monadnock in Early SpringCloud-topped and splendid, dominating all The little lesser hills which compass thee, Thou standest, bright with April's buoyancy, Yet holding Winter in some shaded…Amy Lowell: New York at Night
New York at NightA near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of leaden heaviness, and crags Of houses lift their masonry Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie And snort, outlined…Amy Lowell: The Fruit Garden Path
The Fruit Garden PathThe path runs straight between the flowering rows, A moonlit path, hemmed in by beds of bloom, Where phlox and marigolds dispute for room With tall, red dahlias and the…Amy Lowell: The Promise of the Morning Star
The Promise of the Morning StarThou father of the children of my brain By thee engendered in my willing heart, How can I thank thee for this gift of art Poured out so lavishly, and not in…Trending
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