Quote

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

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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
Full
Assonance
Free
Alliteration
Use
Cadence
Makes
Freer
Stills
Verse
Still
Verses
Kind
Prose
Polyphonic
Except
Rime

More quotes by 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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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
Amy Lowell
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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.
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 am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.
Amy Lowell
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
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
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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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Poets are always the advance guard of literature the advance guard of life. It is for this reason that their recognition comes so slowly.
Amy Lowell
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
Amy Lowell
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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
Amy Lowell
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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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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
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Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.
Amy Lowell
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
Amy Lowell
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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
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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.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
Amy Lowell
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Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England ... Lilacs in dooryards Holding quiet conversation with an early moon Lilacs watching a deserted house ... Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom, You are everywhere.
Amy Lowell