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
Wall
Guarded
Stand
Sunlight
Company
Soldiers
Within
Wheels
Like
Soldier
Red
Arrayed
Gay
Tulips
Embrace
Infantry

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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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I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.
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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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Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented.
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On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns maturity condones.
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin
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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.
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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.
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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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Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.
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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
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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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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
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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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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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You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Amy Lowell
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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
Amy Lowell
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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
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