Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon. — Amy Lowell Beautiful Copy Share Image
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art! — Amy Lowell Art Copy Share Image
Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour. — Amy Lowell Butterfly Copy Share Image
Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose. — Amy Lowell Flower Copy Share Image
Guarded within the old red wall's embrace, Marshalled like soldiers in gay company, The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry Wheels out into… — Amy Lowell Business Copy Share Image
To understand Vers libre, one must abandon all desire to find in it the even rhythm of metrical feet. One must allow… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their "of courses" Are not quite the same. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature; it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented. — Amy Lowell Books Copy Share Image
I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of… — Amy Lowell Balance Copy Share Image
Great emotion always tends to become rhythmic, and out of that tendency the forms of art have been evolved. Art becomes artificial… — Amy Lowell Art Copy Share Image
Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the… — Amy Lowell Darkness Copy Share Image
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line. — Amy Lowell Art Copy Share Image
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Only those of our poets who kept solidly to the Shakespearean tradition achieved any measure of success. But Keats was the last… — Amy Lowell Charm Copy Share Image
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
“The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted, in the round of light thrown by a candle.… — Amy Lowell Darkness Copy Share Image
I do not suppose that anyone not a poet can realize the agony of creating a poem. Every nerve, even every muscle,… — Amy Lowell Agony Copy Share Image
Lilacs, False Blue, White, Purple, Colour of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England ... Lilacs… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men. — Amy Lowell Generations Copy Share Image
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius. — Amy Lowell Genius Copy Share Image
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart. — Amy Lowell Flower Copy Share Image
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words. — Amy Lowell Books Copy Share Image
Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know. — Amy Lowell Blind Copy Share Image
Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation. — Amy Lowell Elation Copy Share Image
In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern. — Amy Lowell Books Copy Share Image
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it. — Amy Lowell Beloved Copy Share Image
I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed. — Amy Lowell Fashion Copy Share Image
On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns; maturity condones. — Amy Lowell Aging Copy Share Image
When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness. — Amy Lowell Love Copy Share Image
