#MIDDLEBURY
Granadilla
Amy Lowell
I cut myself upon the thought of you
And yet I come back to it again and again,
A kind of fury makes me want to draw you out
From the dimness of the present
And set you sharply above me in a wheel of roses.
Then, going obviously to inhale their fragrance,
I touch the blade of you and cling upon it,
And only when the blood runs out across my fingers
Am I at all satisfied.
About this poem
“Granadilla” was first published in Coterie, No. 4, in April 1920.
About Amy Lowell
Amy Lowell was born on Feb. 9, 1874, in Brookline, Mass. Her collections of poetry include “A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass” (Houghton Mifflin, 1912) and “What’s O’Clock” (Houghton Mifflin, 1925), which won the Pulitzer Prize. She died on May 12, 1925.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day@poets.org.
This poem is in the pubic domain. Originally published in Poem-a-Day, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
