Edward Estlin Cummings (Эдвард Эстлин Каммингс)

* * *

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

1. after five
2. there are so many tictoc
3. youful
4. sometimes i am alive because with
5. my father moved through dooms of love

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1714

Последние стихотворения

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