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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?

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
Night
Staring
Men
Follow
Life
Darkness
Eyes
Upon
Eye
Smouldering
Woman
Stare
Inspirational
Sparks

More quotes by 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
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My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.
Amy Lowell
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Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England ... Lilacs in dooryards Holding quiet conversation with an early moon Lilacs watching a deserted house ... Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom, You are everywhere.
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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Everything mortal has moments immortal
Amy Lowell
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If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Amy Lowell
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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
Amy Lowell
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
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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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
Amy Lowell
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
Amy Lowell
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A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.
Amy Lowell
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Youth condemns maturity condones
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
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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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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
Amy Lowell
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Now you are come! You tremble like a star Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set. Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb And mute, I have no tones to answer.
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