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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.

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
Joy
Hope
Freighted
Scatter
Leaves
Opening
Rose

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
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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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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?
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Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.
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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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Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
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Only those of our poets who kept solidly to the Shakespearean tradition achieved any measure of success. But Keats was the last great exponent of that tradition, and we all know how thin, how lacking in charm, the copies of Keats have become.
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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.
Amy Lowell
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A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
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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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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When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Amy Lowell
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
Amy Lowell
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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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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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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
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