Amy Lowell
Amy Lowell
Amy Lawrence Lowellwas an American poet of the imagist school from Brookline, Massachusetts, who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 February 1874
CityBrookline, MA
CountryUnited States of America
classics literature newest preference
In science, read by preference the newest works. In literature, read the oldest. The classics are always modern.
bank blank book drawer few looked peaceful random sort
There are few things so futile, and few so amusing, As a peaceful and purposeless sort of perusing Of old random jottings set down in a blank book You've unearthed from a drawer as you looked for your bank book
dream song heart
I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I wake to find untrue All this I have believed and rested on, Forever vanished, like a vision gone Out into the night. Alas, how few There are who strike in us a chord we knew Existed, but so seldom heard its tone We tremble at the half-forgotten sound. The world is full of rude awakenings And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground, Yet still our human longing vainly clings To a belief in beauty through all wrongs. O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs!
men moles
My! ain't men blinder'n moles?
wall heart passion
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.
trying way said
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.
pain joy recurring
All recurring joy is pain refined.
genius world myopic
The stigma of oddness is the price a myopic world always exacts of genius.
happiness elation stagnation
Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.
horse war soldier
Fifteen millions of soldiers with popguns and horses All bent upon killing, because their "of courses" Are not quite the same.
life flower heart
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
art lines ends
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
romantic firefly dark
Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
fire belief worship
If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.