She whom T. S. Eliot called the “demon saleswoman of poetry”

What is poetry? Is it a mosaic
Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought
Into a pattern? Rather glass that’s taught
By patient labor any hue to take
And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make
Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught,
Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught
With storied meaning for religion’s sake.

Amy Lowell, “Fragment”

Of herself, she said, “God made me a businesswoman and I made myself a poet.”

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Published in: on April 8, 2011 at 8:08 AM  Leave a Comment  
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