Quote

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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Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Understand
Allow
Find
Flow
Must
Intelligent
Even
Reader
Metrical
Feet
Libre
Lines
Aloud
Read
Abandon
Desire
Rhythm

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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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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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Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.
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I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.
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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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Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade.
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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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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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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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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.
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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
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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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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.
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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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How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
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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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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.
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
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Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
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