Poetry of Amy Lowell
Sword Blades and Poppy Seed


Be not angry with me that I bear
 Your colours everywhere,
 All through each crowded street,
  And meet
 The wonder-light in every eye,
  As I go by.

Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
 Blinded by rainbow haze,
 The stuff of happiness,
  No less,
 Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
  Of peacock golds.

Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
 Flushes beneath its gray.
 My steps fall ringed with light,
  So bright,
 It seems a myriad suns are strown
  About the town.

Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
 And rich perfumed smells
 Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
  And shroud
 Me from close contact with the world.
  I dwell impearled.

You blazon me with jewelled insignia.
 A flaming nebula
 Rims in my life.  And yet
  You set
 The word upon me, unconfessed
  To go unguessed.