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Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.

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
Atheism
Millions
Earth
Joyless
Give
Emblem
Best
Robber
Giving
Emblems
Time
Robbers
Greed

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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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Poets are always the advance guard of literature the advance guard of life. It is for this reason that their recognition comes so slowly.
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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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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.
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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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Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry Wheels out into the sunlight.
Amy Lowell
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Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
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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.
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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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Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
Amy Lowell
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
Amy Lowell
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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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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When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell