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

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When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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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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On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. 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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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
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My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.
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I must be mad, or very tired, When the curve of a blue bay beyond a railroad track Is shrill and sweet to me like the sudden springing of a tune, And the sight of a white church above thin trees in a city square Amazes my eyes as though it were the Parthenon.
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Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
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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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Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.
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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
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A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume.
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Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
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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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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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