2 min read
Слушать(AI)Crepuscule du Matin
All night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years behind has wrought Its disillusion; now I only cry For peace, for power to forget the lie Which hope too long has whispered.
So I sought The sleep which would not come, and night was fraught With old emotions weeping silently.
I heard your voice again, and knew the things Which you had promised proved an empty vaunt.
I felt your clinging hands while night's broad wings Cherished our love in darkness.
From the lawn A sudden, quivering birdnote, like a taunt.
My arms held nothing but the empty dawn.
Amy Lowell
Amy Lawrence Lowell (February 9, 1874 – May 12, 1925) was an American poet of the imagist school, which was promoting a return to classical valu
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Interlude
When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread on them; When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter; When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I ...
Autumn
They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia, Opulent, flaunting Round gold Flung out of a pale green stalk Round, ripe gold Of maturity,
Haunted
See He trails his Through the long streaks of moonlight, And the nails of his fingers glitter:
November
The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house, Are rusty and broken Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees, The brittle boughs of