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When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.

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
Drum
Beats
Missing
Dead
Away
Like
World

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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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.
Amy Lowell
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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Amy Lowell
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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Amy Lowell
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Youth condemns maturity condones
Amy Lowell
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Great emotion always tends to become rhythmic, and out of that tendency the forms of art have been evolved. Art becomes artificial only when the forms take precedence over the emotion.
Amy Lowell
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Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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Polyphonic prose is a kind of free verse, except that it is still freer. Polyphonic makes full use of cadence, rime, alliteration, assonance.
Amy Lowell
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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
Amy Lowell
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Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.
Amy Lowell
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Without poetry the soul and heart of man starves and dies.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.
Amy Lowell
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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
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Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their of courses Are not quite the same.
Amy Lowell
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My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.
Amy Lowell
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
Amy Lowell
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
Amy Lowell