Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

* * *

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

1. if learned darkness from our searched world
2. O Thou to whom the musical white spring
3. when unto nights of autumn do complain
4. this is the garden:colours come and go
5. come nothing to my comparable soul

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