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Poem by Amy Lowell


At Night


The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals.  No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
Gone is her gentler music; with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas,
These elemental, loud necessities
Which call to her to answer their swift might.
Above the tossing trees shines down a star,
Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour.  And my mind,
O Star! is filled with your white light, from far,
So suffer me this one night to enjoy
The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.



Amy Lowell


Amy Lowell's other poems:
  1. The Boston Athenaeum
  2. The Bungler
  3. The Fool Errant
  4. The Painter on Silk
  5. The Fruit Shop


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Alice Meynell At Night ("Home, home from the horizon far and clear")

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