Amy Lowell

The Anniversary

Ten years is nothing,

Memory erasure

Love has obliterated the past—ten years feels like nothing because life before the relationship has become unreal or irrelevant.

Yet I do not remember
What happened before.

Memory erasure

Love has obliterated the past—ten years feels like nothing because life before the relationship has become unreal or irrelevant.

Morning flings shadows,

Shadowless noon

At solar noon in the tropics, objects cast no shadow. The relationship has reached a point of equilibrium, neither beginning nor end.

But midday is shadowless.
So I have found it.
T have no flowers,
Yet I give you these roses.

Empty-handed offering

The paradox sets the tone: offering imaginary roses asks the beloved to value intention over material proof.

Humour my pretence.
Have I satisfied?
Who can be sure of himself.
Touch me with your love,
Knowing my weakness,

Blessing gesture

The hands spread overhead evoke both benediction and protection—a priestly or parental gesture of grace.

Spread your hands above my head.
See only your hands.
Watching you daily,
I dare not think what I see.
It is better so.
Since I am only
What you may consider me,
Have merciful thoughts.
Shield me from myself.
At times I have wounded you.
I do not forget.
Take what I give you.
Foolishness is in my words,
But not in my heart.
Cease urging your ears,
My speech has little for them.
Hearken otherwise.
You wrong me, saying:
One death will not kill us both.
Your veins hold my sap.

Sap exchange

Botanical imagery of shared life force—like grafted plants, their circulatory systems have merged.

Keep in remembrance:

Botanical timing

Peonies bloom in late spring or early summer, after spring's showy flowers fade. Late-blooming love is the metaphor.

Peonies do not blossom
Till Spring is over.

Botanical timing

Peonies bloom in late spring or early summer, after spring's showy flowers fade. Late-blooming love is the metaphor.

You prefer Spring? Why?
A season's length of hours—
Incalculable.
Days and days—what then?
Is not recurrence a smile
On the face of age?
Now, in the pale dawn,
How strange to consider time.
What is it to us?

Rice-grain counting

References the parable of counting grains—obsessive measurement of time makes life small and miserly.

Grains of rice counted—
Can any one so spend life?

Rice-grain counting

References the parable of counting grains—obsessive measurement of time makes life small and miserly.

Be spacious and wise.
The bowl is still full.

Niggardly

Means 'stingy' or 'grudging.' The full bowl suggests abundance; the call is to be generous with time rather than hoarding it.

We will not be niggardly.
Plunge in both your hands.
I have known terror.
I swear to know it no more,
Each day a new dawn.
Youth is incautious.
Wisdom learns to tread softly,
Valuing moments.
Cherishing what is,
The wise man sees it depart
Without emotion.
Time is rhetoric,
A mad logician's plaything.
O pitiful world!
Listen to the wind;
Man has not learnt to measure

Wind measurement

Wind speed wasn't accurately measured until the 1800s. Thought, like wind, moves in ways we can't quantify.

Wind measurement

Wind speed wasn't accurately measured until the 1800s. Thought, like wind, moves in ways we can't quantify.

The wind of his thought.
Blowing asunder,
Yet we shall be as the air
Still undivided.
Sleep until day-spring.

Day-spring

Archaic term for dawn or sunrise, from biblical language. The poem ends where it began, cyclically.

With morning we start again,
Another ten years.
Ten years is nothing,

Memory erasure

Love has obliterated the past—ten years feels like nothing because life before the relationship has become unreal or irrelevant.

Yet I do not remember
What happened before.

Memory erasure

Love has obliterated the past—ten years feels like nothing because life before the relationship has become unreal or irrelevant.

Morning flings shadows,

Shadowless noon

At solar noon in the tropics, objects cast no shadow. The relationship has reached a point of equilibrium, neither beginning nor end.

But midday is shadowless.
So I have found it.
T have no flowers,
Yet I give you these roses.

Empty-handed offering

The paradox sets the tone: offering imaginary roses asks the beloved to value intention over material proof.

Humour my pretence.
Have I satisfied?
Who can be sure of himself.
Touch me with your love,
Knowing my weakness,

Blessing gesture

The hands spread overhead evoke both benediction and protection—a priestly or parental gesture of grace.

Spread your hands above my head.
See only your hands.
Watching you daily,
I dare not think what I see.
It is better so.
Since I am only
What you may consider me,
Have merciful thoughts.
Shield me from myself.
At times I have wounded you.
I do not forget.
Take what I give you.
Foolishness is in my words,
But not in my heart.
Cease urging your ears,
My speech has little for them.
Hearken otherwise.
You wrong me, saying:
One death will not kill us both.
Your veins hold my sap.

Sap exchange

Botanical imagery of shared life force—like grafted plants, their circulatory systems have merged.

Keep in remembrance:

Botanical timing

Peonies bloom in late spring or early summer, after spring's showy flowers fade. Late-blooming love is the metaphor.

Peonies do not blossom
Till Spring is over.

Botanical timing

Peonies bloom in late spring or early summer, after spring's showy flowers fade. Late-blooming love is the metaphor.

You prefer Spring? Why?
A season's length of hours—
Incalculable.
Days and days—what then?
Is not recurrence a smile
On the face of age?
Now, in the pale dawn,
How strange to consider time.
What is it to us?

Rice-grain counting

References the parable of counting grains—obsessive measurement of time makes life small and miserly.

Grains of rice counted—
Can any one so spend life?

Rice-grain counting

References the parable of counting grains—obsessive measurement of time makes life small and miserly.

Be spacious and wise.
The bowl is still full.

Niggardly

Means 'stingy' or 'grudging.' The full bowl suggests abundance; the call is to be generous with time rather than hoarding it.

We will not be niggardly.
Plunge in both your hands.
I have known terror.
I swear to know it no more,
Each day a new dawn.
Youth is incautious.
Wisdom learns to tread softly,
Valuing moments.
Cherishing what is,
The wise man sees it depart
Without emotion.
Time is rhetoric,
A mad logician's plaything.
O pitiful world!
Listen to the wind;
Man has not learnt to measure

Wind measurement

Wind speed wasn't accurately measured until the 1800s. Thought, like wind, moves in ways we can't quantify.

Wind measurement

Wind speed wasn't accurately measured until the 1800s. Thought, like wind, moves in ways we can't quantify.

The wind of his thought.
Blowing asunder,
Yet we shall be as the air
Still undivided.
Sleep until day-spring.

Day-spring

Archaic term for dawn or sunrise, from biblical language. The poem ends where it began, cyclically.

With morning we start again,
Another ten years.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Double Structure

The poem repeats itself exactly halfway through. Lines 1-72 are identical to lines 73-144. This isn't a printing error—Lowell built the poem as a mirror, doubling back on itself to enact the cyclical time the speaker describes.

The repetition performs what the poem argues: that "recurrence is a smile / On the face of age." By making you read the same words twice, Lowell forces you to experience time as circular rather than linear. The second reading changes meaning—what felt tentative the first time feels confirmed, what felt like discovery feels like recognition.

This structure also mirrors the ten-year anniversary itself. Anniversaries are recursive by nature—you return to the same date, the same commitment, but transformed by accumulated experience. The doubled poem asks: is the second reading the same poem or a different one? Is the tenth anniversary the same marriage or a new one?

The form is a haiku variant—three-line stanzas, though not strict 5-7-5 syllable count. Lowell studied Japanese poetry and used haiku's compression throughout her career. Each tercet works as a self-contained thought, but the repetition creates a 144-line meditation that's both fragmented and whole.

What Lowell Won't Say Directly

This is a lesbian love poem, written in 1918 when such directness was impossible. Amy Lowell lived openly with Ada Dwyer Russell from 1914 until Lowell's death in 1925. "The Anniversary" marks ten years from when they likely met, but the poem never genders the beloved or names the relationship.

Instead, Lowell uses indirection and paradox: "I have no flowers, / Yet I give you these roses." The imaginary roses are the poem itself—a gift that exists and doesn't exist, like a relationship that's real but socially invisible. "Humour my pretence" asks the beloved to participate in the fiction that lets them speak at all.

The vulnerability is acute: "Since I am only / What you may consider me, / Have merciful thoughts." The speaker's identity depends entirely on the beloved's perception because there's no social category, no legal recognition, no public language for what they are to each other. "Shield me from myself" and "At times I have wounded you" suggest the internalized shame and projection that come from living a love the world calls impossible.

"One death will not kill us both" is the crux. Someone will say they can survive separation because they're not really bound—not married, not kin. The speaker insists otherwise: "Your veins hold my sap." They're grafted together like trees, sharing one root system. Separation would kill both.

The poem's wisdom literature tone—"Be spacious and wise," "Valuing moments"—creates philosophical distance from the urgent emotional plea underneath. By speaking in proverbs and natural metaphors (peonies, wind, rice grains), Lowell can say what direct confession couldn't.