If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,

And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,

Life would be delight,--

But things couldn't go right

For in such a sad plight

I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,

And past was present, and false was true,

There might be some sense

But I'd be in suspense

For on such a pretense

You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,

And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee

Things would seem fair,--

Yet they'd all despair,

For if here was there

We wouldn't be we.

e.e. cummings

The Eagle

                        1

It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days

        That summer and man delight in.

Never had Heaven seemed quite so high,

Never had earth seemed quite so green,

Never had the world seemed quite so clean

Or sky so nigh.

        And I heard the Deity's voice in

            The sun's warm rays,

        And the white cloud's intricate maze,

And the blue sky's beautiful sheen. 

                        2

I looked to the heavens and saw him there,--

        A black speck downward drifting,

Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed,

Nearer and nearer he slid through space,

In an unending aerial race,

       This sailor who hailed

       From the Clime of the Clouds.--Ever shifting,

            On billows of air

        And the blue sky seemed never so fair,

And the rest of the world kept pace. 

                        3

On the white of his head the sun flashed bright;

        And he battled the wind with wide pinions,

Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud,

Clearer and clearer he came into view,--

Bigger and blacker against the blue.

        Then a dragon of cloud

        Gathering all its minions

            Rushed to the fight,

        And swallowed him up in a bite;

And the sky lay empty clear through.

                        4

Long I watched.   And at last afar

        Caught sight of a speck in the vastness;

Ever smaller,ever decreasing,

Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day;

        Finally ceasing.

        So into Heaven's vast fastness

           Vanished that bar

Of black,as a fluttering star

Goes out while still on its way.

                        5

So I lost him.   But I shall always see

            In my mind

The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free;

The vista's sky,and the white cloud trailing,

        Trailing behind,--

And below the young earth's summer-green arbors,

And on high the eagle,--sailing,sailing

        Into far skies and unknown harbors

e.e. cummings

when life is quite through with

when life is quite through with

and leaves say alas,

much is to do

for the swallow,that closes

a flight in the blue;

when love's had his tears out,

perhaps shall pass

a million years

(while a bee dozes

on the poppies, the dears;

when all's done and said,and

under the grass

lies her head

by oaks and roses

deliberated.)

e.e. cummings

Thy fingers make early flowers

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).

e.e. cummings

All in green my love went riding

All in green went my love riding

on a great horse of gold

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the merry deer ran before.

Fleeter be they than dappled dreams

the swift sweet deer

the red rare deer.

Horn at hip went my love riding

riding the echo down

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the level meadows ran before.

Softer be they than slippered sleep

the lean lithe deer

the fleet flown deer.

Four fleet does at a gold valley

the famished arrows sang before.

Bow at belt went my love riding

riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the sheer peaks ran before.

Paler be they than daunting death

the sleek slim deer

the tall tense deer.

Four tall stags at a green mountain

the lucky hunter sang before.

All in green went my love riding

on a great horse of gold

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

my heart fell dead before.

e.e. cummings

Where's Madge then,

Where's Madge then,

Madge and her men?

buried with

Alice in her hair,

(but if you ask the rain

he'll not tell where.)

beauty makes terms

with time and his worms,

when loveliness

says sweetly Yes

to wind and cold;

and how much earth

is Madge worth?

Inquire of the flower that sways in the autumn

she will never guess.

but i know


my heart fell dead before.

e.e. cummings

when god lets my body be

when god lets my body be

From each brave eye shall sprout a tree fruit that dangles therefrom

the purpled world will dance upon

Between my lips which did sing

a rose shall beget the spring

that maidens whom passion wastes

will lay between their little breasts

My strong fingers beneath the snow

Into strenuous birds shall go

my love walking in the grass

their wings will touch with her face

and all the while shall my heart be

With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea

e.e. cummings

in just-

in Just-

spring       when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles       far       and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far       and       wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

 from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

     the

             goat-footed

balloonMan       whistles

far

and

wee

e.e. cummings

unto thee i

unto thee i

burn incense

the bowl crackles

upon the gloom arise purple pencils

fluent spires of fragrance

the bowl

seethes

a flutter of stars

a turbulence of forms

delightful with indefinable flowering,

the air is

deep with desirable flowers

i think

thou lovest incense

for in the ambiguous faint aspirings

the indolent frail ascensions,

of thy smile rises the immaculate

sorrow

of thy low

hair flutter the level litanies

unto thee i burn

incense,over the dim smoke

straining my lips are vague with

ecstasy my palpitating breasts inhale the

slow

supple

flower

of thy beauty,my heart discovers thee

unto

whom i

burn

olbanum

e.e. cummings

if i believe

if i believe

in death be sure

of this

it is

because you have loved me,

moon and sunset

stars and flowers

gold creshendo and silver muting

of seatides

i trusted not,

                  one night

when in my fingers

drooped your shining body

when my heart

sang between your perfect

breasts

darkness and beauty of stars

was on my mouth petals danced

against my eyes

and down

the singing reaches of

my soul

spoke

the green--

greeting pale

departing irrevocable

sea

i knew thee death.

                           and when

i have offered up each fragrant

night,when all my days

shall have before a certain

face become

white

perfume

only,

        from the ashes

then

thou wilt rise and thou

wilt come to her and brush

the mischief from her eyes and fold

her

mouth the new

flower with

thy unimaginable

wings,where dwells the breath

of all persisting stars

e.e. cummings

O sweet spontaneous

O sweet spontaneous

earth how often have

the

doting

          fingers of

purient philosophers pinched

and

poked

thee

,has the naughty thumb

of science prodded

thy

      beauty      .how

oftn have religions taken

thee upon their scraggy knees

squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive

gods

        (but

true

to the incomparable

couch of death thy

rhythmic

lover

          thou answerest

them only with

                        spring)

e.e. cummings

the sky was

the

      sky

            was

can    dy    lu

minous

          edible

spry

        pinks shy

lemons

greens    coo    l choc

olate

s.

  un    der,

  a    lo

co

mo

      tive      s      pout

                                ing

                                      vi

                                      o

                                      lets

e.e. cummings

Buffalo Bill's

Buffalo Bill's

defunct

            who used to

            ride a watersmooth-silver

                                                    stallion

and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

                                                                             Jesus

he was a handsome man

                                      and what i want to know is

how do you like your blueeyed boy

Mister Death

e.e. cummings

this is the garden:colours come and go,

this is the garden:colours come and go,

frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing

strong silent greens silently lingering,

absolute lights like baths of golden snow.

This is the garden:pursed lips do blow

upon cool flutes within wide glooms,and sing

(of harps celestial to the quivering string)

invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

This is the garden.   Time shall surely reap

and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled,

in other lands where other songs be sung;

yet stand They here enraptured,as among

the slow deep trees perpetual of sleep

some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.

e.e. cummings

it may not always be so;and i say

it may not always be so;and i say

that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch

another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch

his heart,as mine in time not fara away;

if on another's face your sweet hair lay

in such a silence as i know,or such

great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,

stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be--

you of my heart,send me a little word;

that i may go unto him,and take his hands,

saying,Accept all happiness from me.

Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird

sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

e.e. cummings

i have found what you are like

i have found what you are like

the rain

             (Who feathers frightened fields

with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind

and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of gren thrilling light

                                        with thinned

newfragile yellows

                           lurch and.press

--in the woods

                        which

                                  stutter

                                           and

                                                 sing

And the coolness of your smile is

stirringofbirds between my arms;but

i should rather than anything

have(almost when hugeness will shut

quietly)almost,

                      your kiss

e.e. cummings