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To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
Amy Lowell -
To understand Vers libre, one must abandon all desire to find in it the even rhythm of metrical feet. One must allow the lines to flow as they will when read aloud by an intelligent reader.
Amy Lowell
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In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jeweled fan, I too am a rare Pattern.
Amy Lowell -
Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run.
Amy Lowell -
Witches are moon-birds, Witches are the women of the false, beautiful moon.
Amy Lowell -
When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Amy Lowell -
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 -
Poetry, far more than fiction, reveals the soul of humanity.
Amy Lowell
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All recurring joy is pain refined.
Amy Lowell -
Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River are your words in the dark, Beloved.
Amy Lowell -
Art is like politics. Any theory carried too far ends in sterility, and freshness is only gained by following some other line.
Amy Lowell -
Everything mortal has moments immortal.
Amy Lowell -
I should like to bring a case to trial: Prosperity versus Beauty, Cash registers teetering in a balance against the comfort of the soul.
Amy Lowell -
Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.
Amy Lowell
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Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Amy Lowell -
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.
Amy Lowell -
How hard, how desperately hard, is the way of the experimenter in art!
Amy Lowell -
Poetry is the most concentrated form of literature; it is the most emotionalized and powerful way in which thought can be presented ...
Amy Lowell -
Love is a game-yes? I think it is a drowning.
Amy Lowell -
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Amy Lowell