Autumn Poem by Amy Lowell
Autumn
They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,
Opulent, flaunting.
Round gold
Flung out of a pale green stalk.
Round, ripe gold
Of maturity,
Meticulously frilled and flaming,
A fire-ball of proclamation:
Fecundity decked in staring yellow
For all the world to see.
They brought a quilled, yellow dahlia,
To me who am barren
Shall I send it to you,
You who have taken with you
All I once possessed?
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4/23/2024 2:54:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Autumn is a faulty composition. It begins as a narrative about a yellow dahlia the poet was given. It ends in bitterness over the poet's lover who took all she had. What is the message? No message. Like too many modern poems since 1913, it is sterile, dreadful and pompous.