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Learn about Amy Lowell, a poet, performer, editor, and translator who devoted her life to the cause of modern poetry and Imagism. Explore her life, career, and legacy through her poems, essays, and biography of John Keats.
- Amy Lowell: “The Garden by Moonlight
Amy Lowells the Garden By Moonlight was a very descriptive...
- Lilacs by Amy Lowell
Lilacs. By Amy Lowell. Lilacs, False blue, White, Purple,...
- The Garden by Moonlight
The Garden by Moonlight. By Amy Lowell. A black cat among...
- Bath
Bath. By Amy Lowell. The day is fresh-washed and fair, and...
- Amy Lowell: “The Garden by Moonlight
Learn about Amy Lowell, a prominent American poet of the Imagist movement, who won the Pulitzer Prize in 1925. Read some of her poems, such as "To John Keats" and "The Little Garden", and explore her influence and legacy.
Amy Lawrence Lowell (February 9, 1874 – May 12, 1925) was an American poet of the imagist school, which promoted a return to classical values. She posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926.
- Amy Lawrence Lowell, February 9, 1874, Brookline, Massachusetts, US
- Poet
- Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, 1925
- Ada Dwyer Russell (together 1912–1925): xl, xlii
Lilacs. By Amy Lowell. Lilacs, False blue, White, Purple, Color of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers. Are everywhere in this my New England. Among your heart-shaped leaves. Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing. Their little weak soft songs; In the crooks of your branches. The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs.
The Garden by Moonlight. By Amy Lowell. A black cat among roses, Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon, The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still, It is dazed with moonlight, Contented with perfume, Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.
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Bath. By Amy Lowell. The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air. The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
1874 –. 1925. Life is a stream. On which we strew. Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know.
