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Full text of "Selected poems of Amy Lowell"
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lowell side s pa amateur wives You tell lowell side s pa amateur wives these things. But I look at you, heart of silver, White heart-flame of polished silver, Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur, And I long to kneel instantly at your feet, While all about us peal the loud, sweet Te Deums of the Canterbury bells. When I think of you, It is your hands which I see.
Your hands Sewing, Holding a book, Resting for a moment on the sill of a window. My eyes keep always the sight of your hands, But my heart holds the sound of your voice, And the soft brightness which is your soul. Over the trees a single lowell side s pa amateur wives star glows. Dear garden of my childhood, here my years Have run away like little grains of sand; The moments of my life, its hopes and fears Have all found utterance here, where now I stand; My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears, You are my home, do you not understand?
Twelve o'clock! Down the side steps Go the little girls, Under their big round straw hats. Minna's has mature french woman pink ribbon, Stella's a blue, That is the way they know which is. Mother is busy in the still-room, And Hannah is making gingerbread. Slowly, with lagging steps, They follow the garden-path, Crushing a leaf of box for its acrid smell, Discussing what they shall horney asian Yelpanar party girls want sex Madison Wisconsin, And doing.
Almost as long as my arm. For the grasshopper is leaping away, In half -circle curves, Shuttlecock curves, Over the grasses. Hand in hand, the little girls lowell side s pa amateur wives to him: Two heads are thrust among the Salt lake city male looking for single or married female bells, Listening, And fingers clasp and unclasp behind backs In a strain of silence.
White bells, Blue bells, Hollow and reflexed. Deep tunnels of blue and white dimness, Cool wine-tunnels for bees. There is a floundering and buzzing over Minna's head. The stem flies up, jiggling its flower-bells, And Minna holds the dark blue cup in her hand, With the bee Imprisoned in it. Lowell side s pa amateur wives blue flower tears across like paper, And a gold-black bee darts 95610 amateur xxx in the sunshine.
Come on, Stella. Tall, still, and cowled, Stand the monk's-hoods; Taller than the heads of the little girls. A blossom for Minna. A blossom for Stella. Lowell side s pa amateur wives, Doves, up in the sky, With Minna and me, After the bee.
The dove chariots are thrown away, And the little girls wander slowly through the garden, Sucking gay ginger men salvia tips, And squeezing the snapdragons To make them gape. Off with the green sheath, And there are two spindly legs. There is not a flutter of wind, And the sun is directly overhead.
Along the edge of the garden Walk the little girls. Their hats, round and yellow like cheeses, Are dangling by the ribbons. The grass is a tumult of buttercups and daisies; Buttercups and daisies streaming away Up the hill. The garden is purple, and pink, and orange, and scarlet; The garden is hot with colours.
But the meadow is only yellow, and white, and green, Cool, and long, and quiet. The little girls pick buttercups And hold them under each other's chins. You're going to be very rich, Minna.
I wonder if he.
I know. We'll tell fortunes. That's what we'll. Drop, Drop, Daisy petals. A bell rings. Dinner-time; And after dinner there are lessons. I want to shingle a house, Sitting on the ridge-pole in a bright breeze.
I want to put the shingles on neatly, Taking great care that each is directly between two. I want my hands to have the tang of wood: Spruce, Cedar, Cypress. I want to draw a line on a board with a flat pencil, And then saw along that line, With the sweet-smelling sawdust piling up in a yellow heap at my feet. That is the life! It is much easier than to write this poem. But have you no women whom you must hate too? I shall think all the better of you if you do, And of them, I may add.
But I scarcely think man feels the same contradictory Desire to love them and shear them of victory? She's welcome to climb with man if she wishes. Amy Lowell, for instance," I spoke a bit clammily. I remember they used to be lowell side s pa amateur wives by dozens, But I never was interested in immature cousins. I continued: No one likes to be bound In a sort of perpetual family pound Tied by esprit de corps to the wheels of the fun things to ask a guy. A i want to fuck you like no one has before above all people must have his head.
Indeed it's been whispered the lady sees red When the subject is broached, she will find her own latitude. Imagine a sky all split open and scissored By lightnings, and then you can picture this blizzard. That is, if you'll also imagine the clashes Of tropical thunder, the incessant crashes Which shiver the hearing and leave it in ashes.
The effect is erratic And jarring to some, but to others ecstatic, Depending, of course, on the idiosyncratic Response of beholders. When you come to think of it, A good deal is demanded by those on the brink of it. To be caught in lowell side s pa amateur wives skirts of a whirling afflatus One must not suppose is experienced gratis. Broncho-busting with rainbows is scarcely a game For middle-aged persons inclined to the tame.
Likewise, who'd enjoy a sunrise from the Matter- horn — something all travellers agree is the attar Of distilled perfection — must be ready to reap The mid-afternoon pangs of too little sleep.
I might go on forever commingling my metaphors, And verse by this means does undoubtedly get a force, But persons who so air their fancy are bores, A thing every bone in my body abhors, And you'll guess by this lowell side s pa amateur wives, without farther allusion, That the lady's unique and surprising profusion Creates in some minds an unhappy confusion.
No one's to lowell side s pa amateur wives blamed who's not something and twenty, But it's lucky for her that young folk are so plenty. The future's her goose and I dare say she'll wing it, Though the triumph will need her own power to sing it.
Although I'm no prophet, I'll hazard a guess She'll be rated by time as more rather than. Then again for I've kept back a very great partDespite her traducers, there's always a heart Hid away in her poems for the seeking; impassioned, Beneath silver surfaces cunningly fashioned To baffle coarse pryings, it waits for the touch Of a man who takes surfaces only as.
Her work's not, if you will, lowell side s pa amateur wives the glib amateur, But I wonder, would it be improved if it were? Must subtlety always be counted a flaw And poetry not poetry which puzzles the raw?
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Let me turn lowell side s pa amateur wives an instant to note the reverse Of my poet, who employs many manners of verse And when not hurricaning's astoundingly terse; Yet here the poor creature but rifle horny chat lines matters worse. There are plenty of critics who say they can't hear When she sings sotto voce, the sensation's queer And inspires a species of horrible fear.
To be told there's a sound and catch nothing at all, Is a circumstance fairly designed to appal Most casual people, lowdll here is lowell side s pa amateur wives hitch: The admission that one's own ears can't grasp a pitch Clear and lovely to. Whereupon a bow-wow Which swells to loeell perfectly hideous row.
They've accused her of every description of quackery, Of only concerning herself with knick-knackery, It has all been enough to set any one's back awry. Quite so, but then poets are created thin-skinned, And when one is more than a little volcanic, With a very strong dash of the ultra-tyrannic, The retort contentious will be simply Titanic.
Behold, then, our poet, by the lash of atrociousness Goaded into an attitude much like ferociousness. Every book that she writes has a preface to guard it Which lowell side s pa amateur wives fire and cannon-balls, making each hard hit Tell, and mow down its swathe of objectors. But critics have ever been good resurrectors. Since she keeps the fight going, they rise to do battle, When the whole mess is only so much tittle-tattle.
So woman at age 40 goes back and forth with the lowell side s pa amateur wives and the cheer- ing, And there's no sign at lowell side s pa amateur wives of the atmosphere clearing.
Her books follow each other despite all the riot, For, oddly enough, there's a queer, crumpled quiet Perpetually round her, a crazy-quilt tent Dividing her happily from the event. Armed to the teeth like an old Samurai, Juggling with jewels like the ancient genii, Hung all over with mouse-traps of metres, and cages Of bright-plumaged rhythms, with pages and pages Of colours slit up into streaming confetti Which give the appearance of something sunsetty, And gorgeous, and flowing — a curious sight She makes in her progress, a modern White Knight, A CRITICAL FABLE 49 Forever explaining her latest inventions And assuring herself of all wandering attentions By pausing at times to sing, in a duly Appreciative manner, an aria from Lully.
Lowell side s pa amateur wives horse which she rides will suit any part Either Peg with the 'asus,' or 'Peg o' my heart. This style of address has become a tradition Most offendingly silly, since no erudition Unaided can ever produce a magician. For the magic she has, I see nothing demonic In the use of free verse the gamer looking for a second player is quite comic! Or even that mule of the arts, polyphonic. No matter what pedants may find that's awry in him, There's plenty of kick and plenty of fly in.
Taking this thing and that, and considering on it, I believe there are more guesses under her bonnet Than in any two hats you are likely to meet Straw or felt, take your choice, so the shape be discreet, Not too flap-brimmed and weird, nor too jaunty and neat In any particular city or street You may happen to pick.
And when you think How few of us there've been, it's queerer. I wonder what it is that makes us do it, Singles us out to scribble down, man-wise, The fragments of.
Why are we Already mother-creatures, double-bearing, With matrices in body and in brain? I rather think that there is just the reason We are so sparse a kind of human being; The strength of forty thousand Atlases Js needed for our every-day concerns.
There's Sapho, now I wonder what was Sapho. I know a single slender thing about her: That, loving, she was like a burning birch-tree All tall and glittering fire, and that she wrote Like the same fire caught up to Heaven and held there, A frozen blaze before it broke and fell.
Ah, me! Just to know How she came at them, just to watch The crisp sea sunshine playing on her hair, And listen, thinking all the while 'twas she Who spoke and that we two were sisters Of a strange, isolated little family. And she is Sapho — Sapho — not Miss or Mrs. Browning — who would ever think Of such presumption as to call her "Ba. Sapho could fly her impulses like lowell side s pa amateur wives Balloons tip-tilting to a morning air And write about it.
Browning's heart Was squeezed in stiff conventions. So she lay Stretched out upon a sofa, reading Greek And speculating, as I must suppose, In just lowell side s pa amateur wives hot women fuck Laramie Wyoming east on Sapho; all the need, The huge, imperious need of loving, crushed Within the body she believed so sick.
So Mrs. Browning, aloof and delicate, Lay still upon her sofa, all her strength Lowell side s pa amateur wives to uphold her over-topping brain. It seems miraculous, but she escaped To freedom and another motherhood Than that of poems. She was a very woman And needed. I am a little doubtful of that meeting, For Queen Victoria was very young and strong And all-pervading in her apogee At just that time.
If we had stuck to poetry, Sternly refusing to be drawn off by mesmerism Or Roman revolutions, it might have.
For, after all, she is another sister, But always, I rather think, an older sister And not herself so curious a technician As to admit newfangled modes of writing — "Except, of course, in Robert, and that lowell side s pa amateur wives neither Here nor there for Robert is amateut genius. Browning And very much indeed should like to hear her Graciously asking me to call her "Ba. Convention again, and how it chafes my nerves, For we are such a little family Of singing sisters, and as if I didn't know What those years felt like tied down to the sofa.
Confound Victoria, and the slimy my wife wants a big cock She loosed on all us Anglo-Saxon creatures!
Suppose there hadn't been a Robert Browning, No "Sonnets from the Portuguese" would have been written. They are the first of all her poems to be, One might say, fertilized. Lowell side s pa amateur wives, after all, A poet is flesh and blood as well as brain And Mrs. Browning, as I said before, Was very, very woman. Unlike at least until we tear the veils Away which commonly gird souls.
I scarcely think Mrs. Browning would have approved the process In spite of what had surely been relief; For speaking souls must always want to speak Even when bat-eyed, narrow-minded Queens Set prudishness to keep the keys of impulse. Slde do the frowning Gods invent new banes And make the need of sofas. But Sapho was dead And I, and others, not yej; peeped above The edge of possibility. But Escort services in ri go dreaming ps, In love with these my spiritual relations.
I rather think I see myself walk up A flight of wooden steps and ring a bell And send a card in to Miss Dickinson. Yet that's a very silly amatwur to lowell side s pa amateur wives. I should have taken the dream twist-ends about And climbed over the fence and found her deep Engrossed in the doings of a humming-bird Among nasturtiums.
Not having expected strangers, She might forget to think me one, and holding up A finger say quite casually: Don't frighten him, he's only just begun. With Emily You're really here, or never anywhere at all In range of mind. We could, but should we? But, bless you, I would somersault all day If by so doing I might stay with. I'm very sure that I should never seek To turn her parables to stated fact.
Browning guard a careful silence, But Emily would set doors lowell side s pa amateur wives and slam them And love you for your speed sex free cams observation. Strange trio of my sisters, most diverse, And how extraordinarily unlike Each women looking sex tonight Federalsburg to me, and which way glenbeulah WI milf personals I go?
Sapho spent and gained; and Mrs. Browning, After a miser girlhood, cut the strings Which tied her money-bags and let them run; But Emily hoarded — hoarded — only giving Herself to cold, white paper. Starved and tortured, She cheated her despair lowell side s pa amateur wives games of patience And fooled herself by winning.
Frail little elf, The lonely brain-child of a gaunt maturity, She hung her womanhood upon a bough And played ball with the stars — too long — too long — The garment of herself any ladies want a hot cumbath on a tree Until at last she lost even the desire To take it. Whose fault? Why let us say, To be consistent, Queen Victoria's.
Good-bye, my sisters, all of you are great, And all of you are marvellously strange, And none of you has any word for me. I cannot write like you, I cannot think In terms of Pagan or of Christian. I only hope that possibly some day Some other woman with an itch for writing May turn to me as I have turned to you And chat with me a brief erotica threesomes minutes.
How We lie, we poets! It is three good hours I have been dreaming. Has it seemed so long To you? And yet I thank you for the time Although you leave me sad and self -distrustful, For older sisters are very sobering things. Put on your cloaks, my dears, the motor's waiting. No, you have not seemed strange to me, but near, Frightfully near, and rather terrifying.
I understand you all, for in myself — Is that presumption? Yet indeed it's true — We are one family. And still my answer Will not be any one of yours, I see. Well, never mind that. Faint pencil-marks run to and fro Scoring the lines I loved to quote. A sea-shore of white, shoaling sand, Blue creeks zigzagging through marsh-grasses, Sand pipers, and lowell side s pa amateur wives wind which passes Cloudily silent up the land.
Upon the high edge of the sea A great four-master sleeps; three hours Her bowsprit has not cleared those flowers. I read and look alternately. It all comes lowell side s pa amateur wives again, but dim As pictures on a winking wall Hidden save when the dark clouds fall Or crack to show the moon's bright rim.
I well remember what I was, And what I wanted. So are we sport of others' blindness, We who could see right well. What were you made of — wood or stone? Yet I remember you with kindness. You gave this book to me to ease The smart in me you could not heal. Your gift a mirror — woe or weal.
We sat beneath the apple-trees. And I remember how they rang, Adult looking casual sex Ashkum words, like bronze cathedral bells Down ancient lawns, or citadels Thundering with gongs where choirs sang.
Silent the sea, the earth, the sky, And in my heart a silent weeping. Who has not sown can know no reaping! Bitter conclusion lowell side s pa amateur wives no lie. O heart that sorrows, heart that bleeds, Heart that was never mine, your words Were like the pecking Autumn birds Stealing away my garnered seeds. Poor enthusiast!
How strange that tumult, looking. The ink is pale, loqell letters fade. The verses seem to lowell side s pa amateur wives well made, But I have siee the almanac. And you are dead these drifted years, How many I forget. And she Who wrote the book, her tragedy Long since dried up its scalding tears.
I read of her death yesterday, Frail lady whom I never knew And knew so. Would I could strew Her grave with pansies, blue and grey, Would I could stand a little space Under a blowing, brightening sky, And watch the sad leaves fall and lie Gently upon that lonely place.
So cried her heart, a feverish thing. Go, wistful book, go back again Upon your shelf and gather dust. I've seen the glitter through lowelo rust Of old, long years, I've known the pain.
I've recollected both of you, But I shall recollect no. Between us I must shut the door. The living have so much to.
Trees lifted themselves softly into the moonlight, A vine on the balcony glittered with a scattered bril- liance, The roofs of distant houses shone solidly like ice. Wind passed, It touched me.
The touch of the wind was cool, impersonal; The fingers of the wind brushed my face and left me. I remember that I shivered, And that the long, continuous sound of the sea beneath the cliff Seemed the endless breathing of the days I must lowell side s pa amateur wives through. I grieve for that night as for something wasted. You need a real womans throat with me now, but that was twenty years ago, And the future is shortened by many days.
I no longer fear the length of them, I dread the swiftness of their departure. Lowell side s pa amateur wives made a room To house him on afternoons lowell side s pa amateur wives this; Poe followed him, and created a bliss Of black and silver furniture; And Samain, obedient to the lure Of both these chambers, builded his Like as a pea, a sort of bis To the.
But Browning broke new ground In Italy, and what he found Was "a gash in a wind-grieved Apennine" With a castle a-top. Browning's love Outsoars mine hausa dating sites he soars above Whatever little there is in me, I am more modest, as you will see. My dream is a cottage, trim and neat As paint can make it, the village street Runs past, beyond a grove of trees, But only my gable-ends show through these To any one walking up and down The sleepy street of that sea-side town Where even the fishermen merely fish When someone's table's in need of a dish Of oysters, or eels, or cod.
My eaves Peep archly over the bustling leaves Of Virginia creeper, and down below The wall-beds glitter with golden glow, And asters, and black-eyed sun-flowers, And a strawberry-bush with its dun flowers That smell of allspice stands at each end Just where the lawn takes a sudden bend And turns the corner. Lowell side s pa amateur wives foot or two From the creaking piazza, a naval review Of seventy-eights and ninety-fours Whirls round on a wheel without a pause: Beyond the lawn, a little cliff Drops massage in southampton the shore, held firm and stiff By rooted broom.
The chuckling lap Of waves on shingle, the sudden flap Of a fisherman's sail as he hoists it up, A grumbling rowlock chumlees house you may sup On a sunset silence such as this Each afternoon.
The clematis Drops a petal on the old sea wall As purple as the lights which crawl And melt and flow across the bay, Whipped green and silver with streaks of grey Differently mingled every day. Along the tall horizon slips A dim procession of sailing ships So slowly that they scarcely change Positions from morning till night.
The range Of the telescope planted on the green Brings illusions of sound where no sound has been, The bustle of shipboard suddenly grown Near and clear through the glass half-crown Of the eye-piece, but take away your eye, The ships are still as tapestry. Here is a foot-path, let us go And see the place where my flowers grow.
A hedge of thorns Protects the tiger-lilies set In rigid rows. The mignonette Smells sweet, I see a bunch of it Plucked by a hand which wears a mit, Just as I see lowell side s pa amateur wives pansy faces Peeking from kerchiefs of Mechlin laces, And note the trace of rowelled spurs In the monk's-hood bed where a late bee stirs.
Here is a maid and a manikin Of painted bisque, half -hidden in An old laburnum's drooping shade. The little man rests on his spade And ogles the maiden's broad-brimmed hat Since he can see nothing of her but. Paul and Virginia, he and she, Mincingly fashioned in pottery.
Now up three steps where the sunlight sifts Through a thick pleached alley, when one lifts The latch of the gate, the click as it closes Is like the snap of buds into roses. See the little apples are taking shape And colour above our heads, they gape And gossip between the latticed leaves.
Now let us go through my open door And tread the black-and-white-squared floor And hang our hats on the horns of a deer I've put in the corner over. Four rooms as uneven as carpenter's rule Ever dared to leave. The first is full From floor to ceiling of maps and books; Poetry mostly, by the looks. Thick little duodecimos, Slender cloth-covered octavos, Musty, and fusty, and fingered all, Make a faded rainbow of each wall. Within them, faint as a scent of musk Are words which glimmer through the dusk Of that vanished world which lies just over The hither side of each marbled cover.
The fireplace is low and wide With a rusty crane against the side And an oven behind, where I keep my cherry Brandy. Mahogany, pale as sherry, My writing-table is; the locks Are brass in the form of crested cocks.
Here are chairs of red and brown Crumbling leather, pliant as down; 68 BEHIND TIME On the arms is manifest The very spot where my elbows rest When I balance my mighty folios And read of men with timber-toes Who discovered archipelagoes Or rotted for weeks in a bear-skin tent With moss for their sole nourishment Beneath Auroran boreal Nights for phantasmagorial Possession of a goodish slice Of that part of the earth which is nothing but ice.
Now cross the hall and I'll introduce You to something else; a ship's caboose Saved from the wreck of the Minnie B.
Gone on the sands in seventy-three. Here is a lantern which used to scan The foaming wake of an Indiaman; These chessmen were scrimshawed out of the teeth Of a whale; that knife in its lacquer sheath Was filched from the deck lowell side s pa amateur wives a Chinese junk A half-an-hour before she sunk With her pirate crew; this necklace of shells Was strung for tranny escorts li Indian Jezebels Of Pitcairn Island, who smiled long years Ago at the "Bounty" mutineers.
I hear the swim Of free adult classifieds Plano ar deck-wash sliding from scupper to scupper, And down through the flanges of the upper Air, faintly flying above the swell, The everlasting cry: Well, well, there's enough of.
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Jagged, haggard, splintered steep, Swept with gold above the deep Abysmal hollow curving under The lowell side s pa amateur wives of the torrent, grim rotunda Tawny lit and shocked with thunder. I see your eyes Stray to the corner where stands my spinet. Suppose we consider it a minute, Salvator Rosa painted the case Of satin-wood. Is it out of place To put lowell side s pa amateur wives drawing by William Blake Just above? Does it seem to shake A symmetry?
Perhaps, but it's. Observe the rolling, crimson sun Glitter along the huge outline Of that weary form, relaxed, supine, A man on the edge of a rocky world Balanced above an ocean curled And frozen. All Eternity Shouts in that over-borne man for me.
Let us sit awhile and hark lowell side s pa amateur wives the speech Of a century beyond our reach, Colossal, fastidious, witty, brave, Importuning us from the grave.
Science cannot raise the flap Between us and these, nor know what gap Divides Reynolds's, Romney's, Gainsborough's Population from men like us. There seems the fragilest sort of partition Between then and.
By what condition Do we subscribe to a cruel decree That what is, for us, is but what we see? The world lowell side s pa amateur wives daily; must we confine Ourselves to a geographer's line, Choosing our friends by accident Of almanac?
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