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what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer's lie bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry?
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
Gives
Dizzying
Stars
Awry
Lying
Autumn
Truth
Immortal
Giving
Leaves
Much
Summer
Sun
Wind
Yanks
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All ignorance toboggans into know and trudges up to ignorance again.
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Meanwhile myself et cetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera.)
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one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was
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Must's a schoolroom in the month of may
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Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.
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If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
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I spill my bright incalculable soul
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nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
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Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?
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Take the so-called standard of living. What do most people mean by living? They don’t mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science, in its finite but unbounded wisdom, has succeeded in selling their wives.
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The sensual mysticism of entire vertical being.
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And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]
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A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
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XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.
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yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds
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Exists no miracle mightier than this: to feel.
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Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt.
e. e. cummings
Buffalo Bill's defunct
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The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.
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Life ,for eternal us,is now
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