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Amy Lowell: To John Keats

To John KeatsGreat master! Boyish, sympathetic man! Whose orbed and ripened genius lightly hung From life's slim, twisted tendril and there swung In crimson-sphered completeness; guardian…

Amy Lowell: Venetian Glass

Venetian GlassAs one who sails upon a wide, blue sea Far out of sight of land, his mind intent Upon the sailing of his little boat, On tightening ropes and shaping fair his course, Hears…

Amy Lowell: A Ballad of Footmen

A Ballad of FootmenNow what in the name of the sun and the stars Is the meaning of this most unholy of wars?Do men find life so full of humour and joy That for want of excitement they smash…

Amy Lowell: An Opera House

An Opera HouseWithin the gold square of the proscenium arch, A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds, Its tassels jarring slightly when someone crosses the stage behind. Gold carving…

Amy Lowell: Battledore and Shuttlecock

Battledore and ShuttlecockThe shuttlecock soars upward In a parabola of whiteness, Turns, And sinks to a perfect arc. Plat! the battledore strikes it, And it rises again, Without haste,…

Amy Lowell: Breakfast Table

Breakfast TableIn the fresh-washed sunlight, the breakfast table is decked and white. It offers itself in flat surrender, tendering tastes, and smells, and colours, and metals, and grains,…

Amy Lowell: Garden Games

Garden GamesThe tall clock is striking twelve; And the little girls stop in the hall to watch it, And the big ships rocking in a half-circle Above the dial. Twelve o'clock! Down the side…

Amy Lowell: Lead Soldiers

Lead SoldiersThe nursery fire burns brightly, crackling in cheerful little explosions and trails of sparks up the back of the chimney. Miniature rockets peppering the black bricks with…

Amy Lowell: Midday and Afternoon

Midday and AfternoonSwirl of crowded streets. Shock and recoil of traffic. The stock-still brick facade of an old church, against which the waves of people lurch and withdraw. Flare of…