Amy Lowell

“Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.”

“I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.”

“For books are more than books, they are the life The very heart and core of ages past, The reason why men lived and worked and died, The essence and quintessence of their lives.”

“You are ice and fire The touch of you burns my hands like snow”

“A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented wit...”

“The Taxi When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum. I call out for you against the jutted stars And shout into the ridges of the wind. Streets coming fast, One after...”

“Venus Transiens Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves, Drifting shoreward On her plaited shell? Was Botticelli’s vision Fairer than mine; And wer...”

“Apples of Hesperides Glinting golden through the trees, Apples of Hesperides! Through the moon-pierced warp of night Shoot pale shafts of yellow light, Swaying to the kissing breeze Swings t...”

“The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted, in the round of light thrown by a candle. Puffs of darkness sweep into the corners, and keep rolling through the room beh...”

“All books are either dreams or swords, You can cut, or you can drug, with words.”

“All books are either dreams or swords.”

“Youth condemns; maturity condones.”

“Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.”

“Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.”

“Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.”

“For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.”

“I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.”