Amy Lowell, an American poet, her first book of poetry was The Colored Glass Dome. 19 13 years, she stood out from the experimental imagist movement and be
Amy Lowell, an American poet, her first book of poetry was The Colored Glass Dome. 19 13 years, she stood out from the experimental imagist movement and became the movement leader after ezra pound. She wrote with "free and rhythmic prose" and free poetry, which is called "rhyme without rhyme". Let me bring it to you, welcome to read!
Lowell's classic poem: Pleiades
You can't see the sky during the day.
Because it is so high.
You looked and looked, but it was so blue.
You'll never see through it.
But when night comes,
All the stars appeared again.
They are like old friends to me,
You see, I have known them all my life.
First, the big dipper, then.
Is Cassiopeia in her chair?
Orion belt, galaxy,
There are many things I know but can't say.
A swarm looks like a swarm of bees,
Dad said they were the Pleiades.
But I think they must be toys.
A lovely little angel
Maybe his stone today.
He forgot to pack his things,
Let them lie in the sky
There he will find them again and again.
I hope he can play with me.
We will have a good time because it will.
The most unusual thing for boys
It feels like they have stars to make toys!
: fruits shop
Crossed shoes; A tulle robe,
High waist, with bright blue waist;
A straw hat to cover a frown.
She frowned a little
When she walked carefully through
Dusty streets. "Ah, miss,
A dirty path, we need rain,
My poor fruit has suffered and has a shell.
The kernel of this nut is too big. Lie down.
In the sun, it shrank again.
The baker on the corner said
We need a battle to shake the dark clouds;
But I am a peaceful person, my way.
Don't expect to kill people in a crowd.
Poor guy made a shroud with a gun and bayonet!
Pray, miss, and stay out of the sun.
Let me dust off that cane chair. cool
Here, for the green leaves I ran.
On the curtain, make a pool.
In the shade. Did you see the pear on the stool-
Shadows keep them plump and white. "
In front of the fruit shop, leaves
Blocking the sun, green flash
Trembling, burning the store, bundling
Sunlight, from the sign on the roof,
From golden letters, broken
Split into small and scattered light.
Jenny Toulemon walked into the store and she poked.
Bonne leans to the right,
Her face looks like the moon at night.
Twinkling clouds. "Mr. Popan, I
Want gooseberry, an apple or two,
Or good plums, but not if they are tall;
Haven't you been blown by a strong wind?
I only have a few francs for you. "
Mr. Popan shrugged and rubbed his hands.
What can he do? The times are sad.
A few francs and such a request!
The requirement for fruit is a bit harsh.
It's really the wind! He never.
Anything but the best.
He pointed to baskets of blunted pears.
Thin skin is as tight as a burst vest,
Yellow, red and brown ears.
Mr. Popan's voice shed tears.
He picked up a pear carefully,
Press it with his hard thumb.
"Smell, miss, the perfume there.
Like lavender, sweet thoughts
Just because there is a dish at home.
And those grapes! They melt like wine,
With a gentle tongue, they become honey.
They were just picked this morning,
I bought them with silver coins.
The corporal's widow is a witness, her pony.
Bring them in at sunrise today.
Those oranges-gold! They are almost red.
They look like little pieces that have just been broken.
From the sun itself. Or vice versa.
You want pomegranates, they are rarely gay,
When you separate them, the seeds are like a deep red spray.
Yes, very high, very high, and those turkey figs,
They are all from the south, Nelson's boat.
It's a little difficult to make our equipment.
They must have been sneaking around.
Cursed Englishmen, when men edit
Take them by powder, why delicious installation?
The price is a little expensive. Those almonds,
When a person gives a discount, I peel off the shell.
Once or twice in the ghetto.
For the people who grow them
They will be dear; Then there was a fight.
Maybe at sea, our boat has heels.
They usually sail at night,
But once they are caught. A feeling
Ivory is no better and no better-why should it be peeled?
The value of almonds is two sous.
It's hard to sell them now, "he sighed.
"The wallet is tight, but I won't lose it.
There are many cheaper things to choose from. "
He selected some raisins from a large pile.
Pottery bowl. "They make tongues.
Almost flew out to suck them, bride
They are raisins. They have been planted for a long time.
Before some new marquise, in
Other great beauties in front of the castle
Let it rot. The gardener's wife,
He died in battle in marengo,
Sell it to me. She saved her life.
Use her pruning knife to keep her alive.
She is a poor old thing, but she has learned to do business.
When her man was young, the young marquis
There are not enough gardens. The flowers he made.
Brand new! And fruit! But twas said
he
Not friends of the people, so they laid the foundation.
Some charges against him, a procession
Citizens took him away; What they mean is,
Ok, but I think there are some mistakes.
He just bent around in the garden.
On what grows; We are too sober.
For the new Republic.
He left, leaving only the garden.
Not destruction, but raisins and apricots,
Peach, with skin, sweet and cracked.
Those green glazed jars are filled with morning dew,
Why, miss, there has never been an eft.
Or worms, and as for theft,
I don't know how the old woman kept them,
But they are better than anything that grows like this. "
Jenny Toulemon took back the gold ring.
Her striped silk purse, upside down.
Shook, two coins fell with a ding.
Eye-catching silver, under her robe
One rolls, the other lies, one thing.
Shining with white light,
In a drop of sunshine between two shadows.
She jerked her purse and took its empty end away.
Knead them in the direction of the middle braid.
The whole collapsed into a mixture.
Colors and stripes. "Mr Popan, my friends.
We always have been. In the old days,
My aunt was very kind during the Great Revolution.
When you need help. You don't need more;
Now we have to beg at your door,
Will you refuse? "the little man
Busy, denying that his heart is good,
But life is hard. He walked towards a pot.
Pour down on the counter like a flood
Spicy raspberries, tangled like wood.
He took a melon with rough skin.
Give it a good wipe with the tip of an apron.
Then he searched the whole shop.
Some walnuts split their lips,
Plus a note from the barber.
Hanging with spicy oval berries
Trembling like tassels. He reached a round.
Basket, with handle, from where it swings.
Against the wall, put it on the ground.
Fill it up, and then he looks for and finds it.
The francs revealed by Jenny Toulemon.
"Will you return the basket, miss?"
She wrote, "The next time I call,
sir You know that very well. "
Twas said softly, but it meant telling.
Mr. Popan bowed a little sheepishly.
She went out with a basket.
The sun is so bright that it flashes.
Her eyes went blind and she collapsed.
Everything about this small street.
In the glare and noise, she stumbled and was dizzy.
This heavy basket is a burden.
She heard a loud cry and almost got a scratch.
Carriage and carriage panels.
The postman shouted in amazement.
A face staring from the carriage window.
She jumped back in time, her heart
Beating in fear. Through the rotating light
The carriage is gone, but her art
Sharp and sharp. Dressed in white
The dust in the street showed her the light.
Stripes of color, wet and cheerful,
Red as blood. Broken but beautiful,
Her fruit stained the pebbles on the road.
Mr. Popan joined her there.
"Tiens, young lady,
It's general Bonaparte,
Take part in the battle! "