LibriVox volunteers bring you 15 recordings of Stupidity by Amy Lowell (1874-1925). This was the Weekly Poetry project for October 31st – November 7th, 2010.
http://www.archive.org/download/stupidity_1011_librivox/stupidity_lowell_rn_64kb.mp3″Running time=1m 18s (mp3@64kb)
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
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.
This week’s poem can be found here.