but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon’s utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe,love’s also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding mains and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish,sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains…
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
)Love
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon’s utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe,love’s also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding mains and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish,sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains…
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
)Love
― E.E. Cummings
Posted on Monday, January 30th at 07:31PM with 1 note
tagged as: e.e. cummings, e e cummings, ee cummings, poem, poetry, poem a day, but if a living dance upon dead minds,
tagged as: e.e. cummings, e e cummings, ee cummings, poem, poetry, poem a day, but if a living dance upon dead minds,
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