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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Touch
Fire
Hands
Like
Burns
Ice
Snow
More quotes by Amy Lowell
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
Amy Lowell
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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This is war: Boys flung into a breach Like shoveled earth And old men, Broken, Driving rapidly before crowds of people In a glitter of silly decorations. Behind the boys And the old men, Life weeps, And shreds her garments To the blowing winds.
Amy Lowell
Everything mortal has moments immortal
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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
Amy Lowell
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their of courses Are not quite the same.
Amy Lowell
All recurring joy is pain refined.
Amy Lowell
Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
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.
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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
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I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed.
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I never deny poems when they come whatever I am doing, whatever I am writing, I lay it aside and attend to the arriving poem.
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
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Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
Amy Lowell
Youth condemns maturity condones
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
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I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.
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If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Amy Lowell