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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amy Lowell

Born in 1874, Amy Lowell was deeply interested in and influenced by the Imagist movement and she received the Pulitzer Prize for her collection What's A Clock...
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	FURTHER READING


		Spring
		Endymion, Book I, [A thing of beauty is a joy for ever] by John Keats

		The Winter's Tale Act IV, Scene II [When daffodils begin to peer] by William Shakespeare

		A Blessing by James Wright

		After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains by John Keats

		Alcove by John Ashbery

		Another Attempt at Rescue by M. L. Smoker

		Birds Again by Jim Harrison

		Black Petal by Li-Young Lee

		Butterfly Catcher by Tina Cane

		Chansons Innocentes: I by E. E. Cummings

		City That Does Not Sleep by Federico García Lorca

		Diary [Surface] by Rachel Zucker

		Each year by Dora Malech

		From you have I been absent in the spring... (Sonnet 98) by William Shakespeare

		Hustlers with Bad Timing by D. A. Powell

		If a Wilderness by Carl Phillips

		In cold spring air by Reginald Gibbons

		In the Memphis Airport by Timothy Steele

		Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth

		Magdalen Walks by Oscar Wilde

		Morning News by Marilyn Hacker

		National Poetry Month by Elaine Equi

		Papyrus by Ezra Pound

		Prologue of the Earthly Paradise by William Morris

		Song On May Morning by John Milton

		Spring by Gerard Manley Hopkins

		Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay

		Spring and All [By the road to the contagious hospital] by William Carlos Williams

		Spring Day [Bath] by Amy Lowell

		Spring in New Hampshire by Claude McKay

		Spring is like a perhaps hand by E. E. Cummings

		spring love noise and all [excerpt] by David Antin

		Spring Snow by Arthur Sze

		Spring Song by Sherwood Anderson

		Spring Storm by William Carlos Williams

		Springing by Marie Ponsot

		The Enkindled Spring by D. H. Lawrence

		Thinking of Madame Bovary by Jane Kenyon

		Two Sewing by Hazel Hall

		Under the Willows [May is a pious fraud of the almanac] by James Russell Lowell

		[O were my love yon Lilac fair] by Robert Burns

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Vernal Equinox
by Amy Lowell

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing through the room, Makes the candles quiver. My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter, And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots Outside, in the night. Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?

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