Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

* * *

perhaps it is to feel strike
the silver fish of her nakedness
with fins sharply pleasant, my

youth has travelled toward her these years

or to snare the timid like
of her mind to my mind that i

am come by little countries to the yes

of her youth.
               And if somebody hears
what i say—let him be pitiful:
because i’ve travelled all alone
through the forest of wonderful,
and that my feet have surely known
the furious ways and the peaceful,

and because she is beautiful.

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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