Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

* * *

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

1. come nothing to my comparable soul
2. when my sensational moments are no more
3. I have seen her stealthily frail
4. perhaps it is to feel strike
5. a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped

Print

1827 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version