XLI Poems by E. E. Cummings (1894 - 1962)

earth like a tipsy

Humanity i love you

when learned darkness from our searched world

O Thou to whom the musical white spring

when unto nights of autumn do complain

this is the garden: colours come and go,

Thou in whose swordgreat story shine the deeds

when the proficient poison of sure sleep

and what were roses. Perfume? for i do

come nothing to my comparable soul

when my sensational moments are no more

I have seen her a stealthily frail

who’s most afraid of death? thou art of him

perhaps it is to feel strike

when i am in Boston, i do not speak

will suddenly trees leap from winter and will

a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped.

by god i want above fourteenth

the sky was

of my

when life is quite through with

into the smiting

Where’s Madge then

after five

between green mountains

in the rain-

Lady of Silence

the hills

i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers

cruelly,love

why did you go

little tree

conversation with my friend is particularly

one April dusk the

Picasso

the skinny voice

as usual i did not find him in cafes, the more dissolute

it’s just like a coffin’s

my mind is

5

at the ferocious phenomenon of 5 o’clock i find myself