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    Amy Lowell - Stupidity

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    poetictouch

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    Amy Lowell - Stupidity - Read by Elizabeth Klett

    Stupidity
    by Amy Lowell (1874-1925)

    Dearest, forgive that with my clumsy touch
    I broke and bruised your rose.
    I hardly could suppose
    It were a thing so fragile that my clutch
    Could kill it, thus.

    It stood so proudly up upon its stem,
    I knew no thought of fear,
    And coming very near
    Fell, overbalanced, to your garment's hem,
    Tearing it down.

    Now, stooping, I upgather, one by one,
    The crimson petals, all
    Outspread about my fall.
    They hold their fragrance still, a blood-red cone
    Of memory.

    And with my words I carve a little jar
    To keep their scented dust,
    Which, opening, you must
    Breathe to your soul, and, breathing, know me far
    More grieved than you.