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Sweet springtime is my time is your time is our time for springtime is love time and viva sweet love.
e. e. cummings
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e. e. cummings
Age: 67 †
Born: 1894
Born: October 14
Died: 1962
Died: September 3
Novelist
Painter
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Cambridge
Massachusetts
e. e. cummings
Edward Estlin Cummings
E. Estlin Cummings
e e cummings
EE cummings
Edward Eatlin Cummings
Viva
Springtime
Spring
Sweet
Time
Love
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Whatever's merely willful, and not miraculous (be never it so skilful) must wither fail and cease - but better than to grow beauty knows no.
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maybe god is a child ‘s hand)very carefully bring -ing to you and to me(and quite with out crushing)the papery weightless diminutive world with a hole in it out of which demons with wings would be streaming if something had(maybe they couldn’t agree)not happened(and floating- ly int o
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Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
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i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
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It may take two people to make a really beautiful mistake.
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Spring is like a perhaps hand
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So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.
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how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any lifted from the no of all nothing human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
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The mind is its own beautiful prisoner. Mind looked long at the sticky moon opening in dusk her new wings then decently hanged himself,one afternoon. The last thing he saw was you naked amid unnaked things.
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there's time for laughing and there's time for crying— for hoping for despair for peace for longing —a time for growing and a time for dying: a night for silence and a day for singing but more than all(as all your more than eyes tell me)there is a time for timelessness
e. e. cummings
O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of them, pulling and tweaking with his little hands to get back at the microscopic knife which sticks firmly in the quiet meat of their hearts.
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Exists no miracle mightier than this: to feel.
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Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?
e. e. cummings
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
e. e. cummings
