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[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

The Letter
Amy Lowell

Little cramped words scrawling all over
the paper
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the
bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing
in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth,
virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart
against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.

Comments

Re:

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Yes I've read a few of her poems and I quite enjoy them. Glad you like :)

Amy Lowell

[watashi.livejournal.com]

I think you already know how much I love Amy Lowell. I suppose you never forget the poet who first turned you on to poetry. I'm curious who the rest of the poetry-posters out there acknowledge as being the poet who first made them realize the beauty and power of poetry.

Re: Amy Lowell

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

For me it was William Blake and RObert Frost

Re: Amy Lowell

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Oh and feel free to pose the question to the community :) I'm curious too.