Azure and Gold

- 1874-1925
          April had covered the hills
           With flickering yellows and reds,
          The sparkle and coolness of snow
           Was blown from the mountain beds.

          Across a deep-sunken stream
           The pink of blossoming trees,
          And from windless appleblooms
           The humming of many bees.

          The air was of rose and gold
           Arabesqued with the song of birds
          Who, swinging unseen under leaves,
           Made music more eager than words.

          Of a sudden, aslant the road,
           A brightness to dazzle and stun,
          A glint of the bluest blue,
           A flash from a sapphire sun.

          Blue-birds so blue, 't was a dream,
           An impossible, unconceived hue,
          The high sky of summer dropped down
           Some rapturous ocean to woo.

          Such a colour, such infinite light!
           The heart of a fabulous gem,
          Many-faceted, brilliant and rare.
           Centre Stone of the earth's diadem!
               .    .    .    .    .
          Centre Stone of the Crown of the World,
           "Sincerity" graved on your youth!
          And your eyes hold the blue-bird flash,
           The sapphire shaft, which is truth.

More by Amy Lowell

A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.

They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps, 
Cold, white lamps, 
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
A river leading nowhere.

Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.

I stand in the window and watch the
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon, 
And this is an alien city.


You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.

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 the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?