Quote

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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Amy Lowell
Age: 51 †
Born: 1874
Born: February 9
Died: 1925
Died: May 12
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Brookline
Massachusetts
Amy Lawrence Lowell
Gay
Tulips
Embrace
Infantry
Wall
Guarded
Stand
Sunlight
Company
Soldiers
Within
Wheels
Like
Soldier
Red
Arrayed

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When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.
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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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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
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Youth condemns maturity condones
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I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed.
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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
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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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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
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A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
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All recurring joy is pain refined.
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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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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
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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.
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Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
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My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
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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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