Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass


Oh!  To be a flower
 Nodding in the sun,
Bending, then upspringing
 As the breezes run;
Holding up
A scent-brimmed cup,
 Full of summer's fragrance to the summer sun.

Oh!  To be a butterfly
 Still, upon a flower,
Winking with its painted wings,
 Happy in the hour.
Blossoms hold
Mines of gold
 Deep within the farthest heart of each chaliced flower.

Oh!  To be a cloud
 Blowing through the blue,
Shadowing the mountains,
 Rushing loudly through
Valleys deep
Where torrents keep
 Always their plunging thunder and their misty arch of blue.

Oh!  To be a wave
 Splintering on the sand,
Drawing back, but leaving
 Lingeringly the land.
Rainbow light
Flashes bright
 Telling tales of coral caves half hid in yellow sand.

Soon they die, the flowers;
 Insects live a day;
Clouds dissolve in showers;
 Only waves at play
Last forever.
Shall endeavor
 Make a sea of purpose mightier than we dream to-day?