Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Voice
Star
Poised
Earth
Across
Rims
Come
Sun
Tremble
Heart
Answer
Tones
Like
Behinds
Sung
Behind
Mute
Answers
Numb
Stars
Tone

More quotes by Amy Lowell

Image
Youth condemns maturity condones
Amy Lowell
Image
So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
Amy Lowell
Image
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
Amy Lowell
Image
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
Amy Lowell
Image
Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
Amy Lowell
Image
Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
Amy Lowell
Image
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.
Amy Lowell
Image
I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
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
Image
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Amy Lowell
Image
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?
Amy Lowell
Image
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
Amy Lowell
Image
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
Amy Lowell
Image
Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
Amy Lowell
Image
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
Image
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their of courses Are not quite the same.
Amy Lowell
Image
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Amy Lowell