Blue through the window burns the twilight;
Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind.
Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light,
Wet, black branches are barred and entwined.
Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot
Dents into pools where a foot has been.
Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not
Of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen.
Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers
Scattering wide at a stronger gust.
Above, the old weathercock groans, but remembers
Creaking, to turn, in its centuried rust.
Dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow,
Wrapping the mists round her withering form,
Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.
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Comments3Just read a poem by Amy Lowell and totally loved it! The lines "Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers scattering wide at a stronger gust."1 are sooo vivid. I actually felt like I was there. Really helps me understand poetry better. Wish they were all this engaging for my homework!
Amy Lowell's poem gave me chills, like I was walking in her words. So senses-satisfying!
Amy Lowell, ur words r so deep, dude.