Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it.
With its gurgling and running.
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night, and the water, and you in your whiteness,
bathing!
Amy Lawrence Lowell(1874-1925) was an American Poet of the imagist school. She posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926. This week's poem comes from Amy Lowell's second collection, Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (1914).It was the book in which she found her characteristic style. Sensuous and subtle, the imagery does not detract from making this poem a celebration of love.
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it.
With its gurgling and running.
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night, and the water, and you in your whiteness,
bathing!
Amy Lawrence Lowell(1874-1925) was an American Poet of the imagist school. She posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926. This week's poem comes from Amy Lowell's second collection, Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (1914).It was the book in which she found her characteristic style. Sensuous and subtle, the imagery does not detract from making this poem a celebration of love.
No comments:
Post a Comment