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In a poem made by Cummings, long since, his
Girl was the rain, but darling you are the sunlight
Volleying down blue air, waking a flight
Of sighs to follow like the mourning iris
Your shining-out-of-shadow hair I miss
A fortnight and to-noon. What you excite
You are, you are me: as light's parasite
For vision on... us. O if my synchrisis
Teases you, briefer than Propertius' in
This paraphrase by Pound—to whom I owe
Three letters—why, run through me like a comb:
I lie down flat! under your discipline
I die. No doubt of visored others, though...
The broad sky dumb with stars shadows me home.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 11 Oct 2008 2:42 PM | Viewed: 1907 times

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