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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Amy Lowell

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Vernal Equinox

Amy Lowell

From “Chalks: Black, Red, White”

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?