Evening Poetry, October 23


by Amy Lowell

The day is sharp and hurried

As wind upon a dahlia stem;

It is harsh and abrupt with me

As a North-east breeze

Striking a bed of sunflowers.

Why should I break at the root

And cast all my fragile flowers in the dust–

I who am no taller than a creeping pansy?

I should be sturdy and definite,

Yet I am tossed, and agitated, and pragmatically bending.

You can find this poem in Amy Lowell: Selected Poems.

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