American poet (1874-1925)
Beneath this sod lie the remains
Of one who died of growing pains.
AMY LOWELL
"Epitaph of a Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success", Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings
Vibrate most readily to minor chords,
Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words
Which voice the passion and the ache of things:
Illusions beating with their baffled wings
Against the walls of circumstance.
AMY LOWELL
"Frankincense and Myrrh", A Dome of Many-coloured Glass
Poets are always the advance guard of literature; the advance guard of life. It is for this reason that their recognition comes so slowly.
AMY LOWELL
preface, Tendencies in Modern Poetry
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
AMY LOWELL
"The Revenge", The New Republic, July 12, 1922