Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass


Leisure, thou goddess of a bygone age,
 When hours were long and days sufficed to hold
 Wide-eyed delights and pleasures uncontrolled
By shortening moments, when no gaunt presage
Of undone duties, modern heritage,
 Haunted our happy minds; must thou withhold
 Thy presence from this over-busy world,
And bearing silence with thee disengage
 Our twined fortunes?  Deeps of unhewn woods
 Alone can cherish thee, alone possess
Thy quiet, teeming vigor.  This our crime:
 Not to have worshipped, marred by alien moods
 That sole condition of all loveliness,
The dreaming lapse of slow, unmeasured time.