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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.

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
Myopic
Stigma
Price
Genius
Always
World
Oddness
Exacts

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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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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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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
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All recurring joy is pain refined.
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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
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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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I never deny poems when they come whatever I am doing, whatever I am writing, I lay it aside and attend to the arriving poem.
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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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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.
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Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their of courses Are not quite the same.
Amy Lowell
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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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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
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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.
Amy Lowell
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
Amy Lowell
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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
Amy Lowell
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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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I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell