Amy Lowell
Amy Lowell
Amy Lawrence Lowellwas an American poet of the imagist school from Brookline, Massachusetts, who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 February 1874
CityBrookline, MA
CountryUnited States of America
lying shells creeds
I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
giving greed earth
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
running strong horse
So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
broken-heart love-is thinking
Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
confused america sublime
This is America, This vast, confused beauty, This staring, restless speed of loveliness, Mighty, overwhelming, crude, of all forms, Making grandeur out of profusion, Afraid of no incongruities, Sublime in its audacity, Bizarre breaker of moulds.
soul balance trials
I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.
genius world myopic
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
rose joy opening
Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
wall heart passion
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.
horse war soldier
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their "of courses" Are not quite the same.
romantic firefly dark
Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
self sorrow experience
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
bank blank book drawer few looked peaceful random sort
There are few things so futile, and few so amusing, As a peaceful and purposeless sort of perusing Of old random jottings set down in a blank book You've unearthed from a drawer as you looked for your bank book
american-poet cheerfulness
Let us be of cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.