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Youth condemns maturity condones

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
Condones
Condemns
Maturity
Youth

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When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
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I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.
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Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
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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.
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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.
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If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
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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.
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
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All recurring joy is pain refined.
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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
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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.
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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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To understand Vers libre, one must abandon all desire to find in it the even rhythm of metrical feet. One must allow the lines to flow as they will when read aloud by an intelligent reader.
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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns maturity condones.
Amy Lowell