How loud clocks can tick when ...

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

How hard, how desperately hard...

How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!

May is much sunshine through s...

May is much sunshine through small leaves.

I do not suppose that anyone n...

I do not suppose that anyone not a poet can realize the agony of creating a poem. Every nerve, even every muscle, seems strained to the breaking point. The poem will not be denied; to refuse to write it would be a greater torture. It tears its way out of the brain, splintering and breaking its passage, and leaves that organ in the state of a jelly-fish when the task is done.

I never deny poems when they c...

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.

Poetry is the most concentrate...

Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature; it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented ...

To-night when the full-bellied...

To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.

Life is a stream On which we s...

Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know. And the stream as it flows Sweeps them away, Each one is gone Ever beyond into infinite ways. We alone stay While years hurry on, The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

So with the stretch of the whi...

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.

Underneath my stiffened gown

Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin

Amy Lowell 03.03.2018 03:03:03 98 quotes

Not a softness anywhere about ...

Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.

I shall go
Up and down

I shall go
Up and down
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.

Amy Lowell 03.03.2018 03:03:03 98 quotes

In my stiff, brocaded gown.

In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jeweled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern.

Amy Lowell 03.03.2018 03:03:03 98 quotes

Everything mortal has moments ...

Everything mortal has moments immortal

Love is a game-yes? I think it...

Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.

Art is like politics. Any theo...

Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.

Life is a stream On which we s...

Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.

Fifteen millions of soldiers w...

Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their 'of courses' Are not quite the same.

Poetry, far more than fiction,...

Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.

My heart is tuned to sorrow, a...

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.