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More poems by e.e. cummingse.e. cummings | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by e.e. cummingsBooks by e.e. cummings

Thy fingers make early flowers of... (IV)

e.e. cummings

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).

Added: 19 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 12 Dec 2018 11:04 AM | Viewed: 11649 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/350/ | Viewed on 12 December 2018.
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