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
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Now you are come! You tremble like a star Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set. Your voice has sung… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns; maturity condones. — Amy Lowell 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 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, seems strained… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
I shall go Up and down In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin — 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 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 great exponent… — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Poets are always the advance guard of literature; the advance guard of life. It is for this reason that their recognition comes so slowly. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon. — Amy Lowell Copy Share Image
