Quote

How much more beautiful is the moon, Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree The moon Wavering across a bed of tulips The moon, Still, Upon your face. You shine, Beloved, You and the moon. But which is the reflection?

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
Still
Moon
Wavering
Much
Tree
Shine
Face
Branches
Faces
Beloved
Upon
Shining
Slanting
Night
Reflection
Tulips
Beautiful
Bed
Plum
Stills
Across
Plums

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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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.
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Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.
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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
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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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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
Amy Lowell
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
Amy Lowell
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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
Amy Lowell
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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When trying to explain anything, I usually find that the Bible, that great collection of magnificent and varied poetry, has said it before in the best possible way.
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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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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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Without poetry the soul and heart of man starves and dies.
Amy Lowell
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All recurring joy is pain refined.
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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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
Amy Lowell
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I must be mad, or very tired, When the curve of a blue bay beyond a railroad track Is shrill and sweet to me like the sudden springing of a tune, And the sight of a white church above thin trees in a city square Amazes my eyes as though it were the Parthenon.
Amy Lowell