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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
Freighted
Scatter
Leaves
Opening
Rose
Joy
Hope

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
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Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
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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.
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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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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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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
Amy Lowell
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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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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: 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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Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.
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.
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
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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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Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
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Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
Amy Lowell
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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Amy Lowell
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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
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