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How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!

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
Clock
Loud
Empty
Room
Rooms
Alone
Clocks
Tick
Emptiness

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum.
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Happiness, to some, elation Is, to others, mere stagnation.
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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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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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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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Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
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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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Everything mortal has moments immortal
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Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
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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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Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose.
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
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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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Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
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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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Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
Amy Lowell
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May is much sunshine through small leaves.
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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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When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Amy Lowell