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I never deny poems when they come whatever I am doing, whatever I am writing, I lay it aside and attend to the arriving poem.

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
Poetry
Whatever
Arriving
Come
Attend
Writing
Poems
Never
Aside
Poem
Lays
Deny

More quotes by Amy Lowell

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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
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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.
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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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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
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Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
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Happiness, to some, is elation to others it is mere stagnation.
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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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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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All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
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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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Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
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The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
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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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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.
Amy Lowell
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Even pain pricks to livelier living.
Amy Lowell
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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.
Amy Lowell
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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
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.
Amy Lowell
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Youth condemns maturity condones
Amy Lowell