Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings,saying (though love be a day) do not fear,we will go amaying. thy whitest feet crisply are straying. Always thy moist eyes are at kisses playing, whose strangeness much says;singing (though love be a day) for which girl art thou flowers bringing? To be thy lips is a sweet thing and small. Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing if this thou catch, else missing. (though love be a day and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing). ee cummings |
E.E. Cummings is not only an American Writer but also a poet, painter, and playwriter. His body of work encompasses approximately 2,900 poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays and several essays, as well as numerous drawings and paintings. He is remembered as a preeminent voice of 20th century poetry, as well as one of the most popular.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers Of
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