American poet (1874-1925)
Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes.
AMY LOWELL
"Madonna of the Evening Flowers", Pictures of the Floating World
Beneath this sod lie the remains
Of one who died of growing pains.
AMY LOWELL
"Epitaph of a Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success", Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
AMY LOWELL
"The Revenge", The New Republic, July 12, 1922
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
preface, Tendencies in Modern Poetry