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A Wind Has Blown The Rain Away And Blown The Sky Away And All The Leaves Away, And The Trees Stand. I Think, I Too, Have Known Autumn Too Long.

-E. E. Cummings

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A Wind Has Blown

E. E. Cummings

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A Wind Has Blown The Rain Away And Blown The Sky Away And All The Leaves Away, And The Trees Stand. I Think, I Too, Have Known Autumn Too Long.

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More From E. E. Cummings

The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

Nobody Loses All The Time.

The Mind Is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner. Mind Looked Long At The Sticky Moon Opening In Dusk Her New Wings Then Decently Hanged Himself,one Afternoon. The Last Thing He Saw Was You Naked Amid Unnaked Things.

I'd Rather Have Two Good Friends, Than 500,000 Admirers.

No Evil Is So Worse Than Worst You Fall In Hate With Love.

Guilt Is The Cause Of More Marauders Than History's Most Obscene Disauders

The Cambridge Ladies Who Live In Furnished Souls Are Unbeautiful And Have Comfortable Minds.

Lovers Alone Wear Sunlight.

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

The Courage To Receive Time's Mightiest Dream.

Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

The Snow Doesn't Give A Soft White Damn Whom It Touches.

It's No Use Trying To Pretend That Mostpeople And Ourselves Are Alike. Mostpeople Have Less In Common With Ourselves Than Thesquarerootofminusone. You And I Are Human Beings; Mostpeople Are Snobs.

If You Like My Poems Let Them Walk In The Evening, A Little Behind You

My Advice To All Young People Who Wish To Become Poets Is: Do Something Easy, Like Learning How To Blow Up The World - Unless You're Not Only Willing, But Glad, To Feel And Work And Fight Till You Die.

As Small As A World As Large As Alone.

Deeds Cannot Dream What Dreams Can Do

I Carry Your Heart With Me(i Carry It In My Heart)

A Wind Has Blown The Rain Away And Blown The Sky Away And All The Leaves Away, And The Trees Stand. I Think, I Too, Have Known Autumn Too Long.

Since Feeling Is First Who Pays Any Attention To The Syntax Of Things Will Never Wholly Kiss You; Wholly To Be A Fool While Spring Is In The World My Blood Approves, And Kisses Are A Far Better Fate Than Wisdom Lady I Swear By All Flowers. Don't Cry --the Best Gesture Of My Brain Is Less Than Your Eyelids' Flutter Which Says We Are For Eachother: Then Laugh, Leaning Back In My Arms For Life's Not A Paragraph And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis

It Takes Courage To Grow Up And Become Who You Really Are.

In Time Of Daffodils(who Know The Goal Of Living Is To Grow) Forgetting Why,remember How In Time Of Lilacs Who Proclaim The Aim Of Waking Is To Dream, Remember So(forgetting Seem) In Time Of Roses(who Amaze Our Now And Here With Paradise) Forgetting If,remember Yes In Time Of All Sweet Things Beyond Whatever Mind May Comprehend, Remember Seek(forgetting Find) And In A Mystery To Be (when Time From Time Shall Set Us Free) Forgetting Me,remember Me

All Which Isn't Singing Is Mere Talking... And All Talking's To Oneself Alone But The Very Song Of (as Mountains Feel And Lovers) Singing Is Silence.

The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

A Pretty Girl Who Is Naked / Is Worth A Million Statues

May My Mind Stroll About Hungry And Fearless And Thirsty And Supple And Even If Its Sunday May I Be Wrong For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

All By All And Deep By Deep And More By More They Dream Their Sleep Noone And Anyone Earth By April Wish By Spirit And If By Yes

If There Are Any Heavens My Mother Will(all By Herself)have One. It Will Not Be A Pansy Heaven Or A Fragile Heaven Of Lilies-of-the-valley But It Will Be A Heaven Of Blackred Roses My Father Will Be(deep Like A Rose Tall Like A Rose) Standing Near My Swaying Over Her (silent) With Eyes Which Are Really Petals And See Nothing With The Face Of A Poet Really Which Is A Flower And Not A Face With Hands Which Whisper This Is My Beloved My (suddenly In Sunlight He Will Bow, And The Whole Garden Will Bow)

Here's To Opening And Upward... And To Yourself And Up With You And Up With And Up With Laughing.

Love Is A Deeper Season Than Reason; My Sweet One

In The Street Of The Sky Night Walks Scattering Poems

I Imagine That Yes Is The Only Living Thing.

Nothing Which We Are To Perceive In This World Equals The Power Of Your Intense Fragility

When Skies Are Hanged And Oceans Drowned, The Single Secret Will Still Be Man

It Takes Three To Make A Child.

If 180 Million People Want To Be Undead, That’s Their Funeral, But I Happen To Like Being Alive.

An Artist, A Man, A Failure, Must Proceed.

The Three Saddest Things Are The Ill Wanting To Be Well, The Poor Wanting To Be Rich, And The Constant Traveler Saying 'anywhere But Here'.

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth How Often Have The Doting Fingers Of Prurient Philosophers Pinched And Poked Thee ,has The Naughty Thumb Of Science Prodded Thy Beauty .how Often Have Religions Taken Thee Upon Their Scraggy Knees Squeezing And Buffeting Thee That Thou Mightest Conceive Gods (but True To The Incomparable Couch Of Death Thy Rhythmic Lover Thou Answerest Them Only With Spring)

For Whatever We Lose (like A You Or A Me), It's Always Our Self We Find In The Sea.

The Symbol Of All Art Is The Prism. The Goal Is Unrealism. The Method Is Destructive. To Break Up The White Light Of Objective Realism, Into The Secret Glories Which It Contains.

The Artist Is Not A Man Who Describes, But A Man Who Feels.

True Wars Are Never Won.

Maggie And Milly And Molly And May Went Down To The Beach (to Play One Day) And Maggie Discovered A Shell That Sang So Sweetly She Couldn't Remember Her Troubles, And Milly Befriended A Stranded Star Whose Rays Five Languid Fingers Were And Molly Was Chased By A Horrible Thing Which Raced Sideways While Blowing Bubbles And May Come Home With A Smooth Rounded Stone As Small As A World And As Big As Alone. For Whatever We Loose (like A You Or A Me) It Is Always Ourselves We Find In The Sea.

Love Is The Every Only God

My Mother Hoped That I Would Die Etcetera Bravely Of Course My Father Used To Become Hoarse Talking About How It Was A Privilege And If Only He Could

May Came Home With A Smooth Round Stone As Small As A World And As Large As Alone.

N Othi N G Can S Urpas S The M Y Ster Y Of S Tillnes S

Knowledge Is A Polite Word For Dead But Not Buried Imagination.

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body. It Is So Quite New A Thing. Muscles Better And Nerves More. I Like Your Body. I Like What It Does, I Like Its Hows. I Like To Feel The Spine Of Your Body And Its Bones, And The Trembling -firm-smooth Ness And Which I Will Again And Again And Again Kiss, I Like Kissing This And That Of You, I Like, Slowly Stroking The, Shocking Fuzz Of Your Electric Fur, And What-is-it Comes Over Parting Flesh ... And Eyes Big Love-crumbs, And Possibly I Like The Thrill Of Under Me You So Quite New.

Now The Ears Of My Ears Awake And Now The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

Spring Slattern Of Seasons You Have Soggy Legs And A Muddy Petticoat Drowsy Is Your Hair Your Eyes Are Sticky With Dream And You Have A Sloppy Body From Being Brought To Bed Of Crocuses When You Sing In Your Whisky Voice The Grass Rises On The Head Of The Earth And All The Trees Are Put On Edge Spring Of The Excellent Jostle Of Thy Hips And The Superior

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth How Often Has The Naughty Thumb Of Science Prodded Thy Beauty Thou Answereth Them Only With Spring.

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond

So Far As I Am Concerned, Poetry And Every Other Art Was And Is And Forever Will Be Strictly And Distinctly A Question Of Individuality... If Poetry Is Your Goal, You've Got To Forget All About Punishments And All About Rewards And All About Self-styled Obligations And Duties And Responsibilities Etcetera Ad Infinitum And Remember One Thing Only: That It's You - Nobody Else - Who Determine Your Destiny And Decide Your Fate. Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else... There's The Artist's Responsibility; And The Most Awful Responsibility On Earth.

...losing Through You What Seemed Myself, I Find Selves Unimaginably Mine; Beyond Sorrow's Own Joys And Hopings Very Fears Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: Yours Is The Darkness Of My Soul's Return... You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

Someones Married Their Everyones Laughed Their Cryings And Did Their Dance (sleep Wake Hope And Then) They Said Their Nevers They Slept Their Dream

One's Not Half Two. It's Two Are Halves Of One.

In Just - Spring When The World Is Mud- Luscious The Little Lame Balloonman Whistles Far And Wee

When Man Determined To Destroy Himself He Picked The Was Of Shall And Finding Only Why Smashed It Into Because.

Buffalo Bill's Defunct

The Other Guineahen Died Of A Broken Heart And We Came To New York. I Used To Sit At A Table,drawing Wings With A Pencil That Kept Breaking And I Kept Remembering How Your Mind Looked When It Slept For Several Years,to Wake Up Asking Why. So Then You Turned Into A Photograph Of Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Laugh At Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Cry

Humanity I Love You Because You Are Perpetually Putting The Secret Of Life In Your Pants And Forgetting It's There And Sitting Down On It And Because You Are Forever Making Poems In The Lap Of Death Humanity I Hate You

My Mind Is A Big Hunk Of Irrevocable Nothing Which Touch And Taste And Smell And Hearing And Sight Keep Hitting And Chipping With Sharp Fatal Tools In An Agony Of Sensual Chisels I Perform Squirms Of Chrome And Ex -ecute Strides Of Cobalt Nevertheless I Feel That I Cleverly Am Being Altered That I Slightly Am Becoming Something A Little Different, In Fact Myself Hereupon Helpless I Utter Lilac Shrieks And Scarlet Bellowings

Taste And Smell

Certainly The Most Obvious . . . Example Of The Strictly Infantile Essence Of America's All-conquering Mentality Greets Our Eyes Daily, Anywhere And Everywhere, In The Guise Of The Tabloid Newspaper. The Tabloid Newspaper Actually Means To The Typical American Of The Era What The Bible Is Popularly Supposed To Have Meant To The Typical Pilgrim Father: Viz. A Very Present Help In Times Of Trouble, Plus A Means Of Keeping Out Of Trouble Via Harmless, Since Vicarious, Indulgence In The Pomps And Vanities Of This Wicked World.

The Hardest Fight A Man Has To Fight Is To Live In A World Where Every Single Day Someone Is Trying To Make You Someone You Do Not Want To Be--

May I Be I Is The Only Prayer--not May I Be Great Or Good Or Beautiful Or Wise Or Strong.

America Makes Prodigious Mistakes, America Has Colossal Faults, But One Thing Cannot Be Denied: America Is Always On The Move. She May Be Going To Hell, Of Course, But At Least She Isn't Standing Still.

Humanity I Love You Because When You're Hard Up You Pawn Your Intelligence To Buy A Drink.

Dive For Dreams Or A Slogan May Topple You (trees Are Their Roots And Wind Is Wind) Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire (and Live By Love Though The Stars Walk Backward) Honour The Past But Welcome The Future (and Dance Your Death Away At This Wedding) Never Mind A World With Its Villains Or Heroes (for God Likes Girls And Tomorrow And The Earth)

I Shall Imagine Life Is Not Worth Dying,if (and When)roses Complain Their Beauties Are In Vain But Though Mankind Persuades Itself That Every Weed's A Rose,roses(you Feel Certain)will Only Smile

The Most Wasted Of All Days Is One Without Laughter.

It's Spring When The World Is Puddle-wonderful

Maybe God Is A Child ‘s Hand)very Carefully Bring -ing To You And To Me(and Quite With Out Crushing)the Papery Weightless Diminutive World With A Hole In It Out Of Which Demons With Wings Would Be Streaming If Something Had(maybe They Couldn’t Agree)not Happened(and Floating- Ly Int O

So, When Kiss Spring Comes We'll Kiss Each Kiss Other On Kiss The Kiss Lips Because Tic Clocks Tock Don't Make A Toctic Difference To Kisskiss You And To Kiss Me.

There's Time For Laughing And There's Time For Crying— For Hoping For Despair For Peace For Longing —a Time For Growing And A Time For Dying: A Night For Silence And A Day For Singing But More Than All(as All Your More Than Eyes Tell Me)there Is A Time For Timelessness

Always The Beautiful Answer Who Asks A More Beautiful Question.

Your Head Is A Living Forest Full Of Songbirds.

Most People Are Perfectly Afraid Of Silence

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.

If At The End Of Your First Ten Or Fifteen Years Of Fighting And Working And Feeling, You Find You've Written One Line Of One Poem, You'll Be Very Lucky Indeed.

That Which We Die For Lives As Wholly As That Which We Live For Dies.

An Intelligent Person Fights For Lost Causes, Realizing That Others Are Merely Effects

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds Who Are The Secrets Of Living

By The Way, A Gendarme Assured Me This Is Not A Prison.

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.

Your Homecoming Will Be My Homecoming

Well, Write Poetry, For God's Sake, It's The Only Thing That Matters.

O Gouvernment Francais, I Think It Was Not Very Clever Of You To Put This Terrible Doll In La Ferte; For When Governments Are Found Dead There Is Always A Little Doll On Top Of Them, Pulling And Tweaking With His Little Hands To Get Back At The Microscopic Knife Which Sticks Firmly In The Quiet Meat Of Their Hearts.

I'd Rather Learn From One Bird How To Sing Than To Teach Ten Thousand Stars How Not To Dance.

A Bouquet Of Clumsy Words: You Know That Place Between Sleep And Awake Where You're Still Dreaming But It's Slowly Slipping? I Wish We Could Feel Like That More Often. I Also Wish I Could Click My Fingers Three Times And Be Transported To Anywhere I Like. I Wish That People Didn't Always Say 'just Wondering' When You Both Know There Was A Real Reason Behind Them Asking. And I Wish I Could Get Lost In The Stars. Listen, There's A Hell Of A Good Universe Next Door, Let's Go.

You Shall Above All Things Be Glad And Young For If You're Young,whatever Life You Wear It Will Become You;and If You Are Glad Whatever's Living Will Yourself Become.

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

The Poems To Come Are For You And For Me And Are Not For Mostpeople... You And I Are Human Beings; Mostpeople Are Snobs.

You Have Played, (i Think) And Broke The Toys You Were Fondest Of, And Are A Little Tired Now; Tired Of Things That Break, And— Just Tired. So Am I.

Hate Blows A Bubble Of Despair Into Hugeness World System Universe And Bang -fear Buries A Tomorrow Under Woe And Up Comes Yesterday Most Green And Young

And Now You Are And I Am And We're A Mystery Which Will Never Happen Again.

-before Leaving My Room I Turn, And (stooping Through The Morning) Kiss This Pillow, Dear Where Our Heads Lived And Were.

The Theory Of The Free Press Is Not That The Truth Will Be Presented Completely Or Perfectly In Any One Instance, But That The Truth Will Emerge From Free Discussion

Notice The Convulsed Orange Inch Of Moon Perching On This Silver Minute Of Evening

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 (skillfully Curled) All Worlds

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.

You And I Are More Than You And I Because It's We.

All In Green Went My Love Of Riding On A Great Horse Of Gold Into The Silver Dawn.

Art Is A Mystery. A Mystery Is Something Immeasurable.

All Nothing's Only Our Hugest Home; The Most Who Die, The More We Live

I Thank You God For Most This Amazing Day:for The Leaping Greenly Spirits Of Trees And A Blue True Dream Of Sky; And For Everything Which Is Natural Which Is Infinite Which Is Yes (i Who Have Died Am Alive Again Today, And This Is The Sun's Birthday; This Is The Birth Day Of Life And Of Love And Wings: And Of The Gay Great Happening Illimitably Earth) How Should Tasting Touching Hearing Seeing Breathing Any--lifted From The No Of All Nothing--human Merely Being Doubt Unimaginable You? (now The Ears Of My Ears Awake And Now The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened)

Love Is Thicker Than Forget More Thinner Than Recall More Seldom Than A Wave Is Wet More Frequent Than To Fail It Is Most Mad And Moonly And Less It Shall Unbe Than All The Sea Which Only Is Deeper Than The Sea Love Is Less Always Than To Win Less Never Than Alive Less Bigger Than The Least Begin Less Littler Than Forgive It Is Most Sane And Sunly And More It Cannot Die Than All The Sky Which Only Is Higher Than The Sky

Love Being Such, Or Such, The Normal Corners Of Your Heart Will Never Guess How Much My Wonderful Jealousy Is Dark

The Artist Is No Other Than He Who Unlearns What He Has Learned, In Order To Know Himself.

Because You Aren't Afraid To Kiss The Dirt (and Consequently Dare To Climb The Sky)

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body. It Is So Quite New A Thing. Muscles Better And Nerves More.

I Am Someone Who Proudly And Humbly Affirms That Love Is The Mystery-of-mysteries, And That Nothing Measurable Matters 'a Very Good God Damn'; That 'an Artist, A Man, A Failure' Is No Mere Whenfully Accreting Mechanism, But A Givingly Eternal Complexity-neither Some Soulless And Heartless Ultrapredatory Infra-animal Nor Any Understandingly Knowing And Believing And Thinking Automaton, But A Naturally And Miraculously Whole Human Being-a Feelingly Illimitable Individual; Whose Only Happiness Is To Transcend Himself, Whose Every Agony Is To Grow.

To Destroy Is Always The First Step In Any Creation.

Because It's Spring Things Dare To Do People (& Not The Other Way Round)because It 's A Pril Lives Lead Their Own Persons(in Stead Of Everybodyelse's)but What's Wholly Marvellous My Darling Is That You & I Are More Than You & I(be Ca Us E It's We)

Time's A Strange Fellow; More He Gives Than Takes (and He Takes All).

Damn Everything But The Circus! ...damn Everything That Is Grim, Dull, Motionless, Unrisking, Inward Turning, Damn Everything That Won't Get Into The Circle, That Won't Enjoy. That Won't Throw It's Heart Into The Tension, Surprise, Fear And Delight Of The Circus, The Round World, The Full Existence.

There Are Certain Things In Which One Is Unable To Believe For The Simple Reason That He Never Ceases To Feel Them. Things Of This Sort - Things Which Are Always Inside Of Us And In Fact Are Us And Which Consequently Will Not Be Pushed Off Or Away Where We Can Begin Thinking About Them - Are No Longer Things; They, And The Us Which They Are, Equals A Verb; An Is.

Your Slightest Look Easily Will Unclose Me, Though I Have Closed Myself As Fingers, You Open Petal By Petal Myself A Spring Opens Her First Rose.

Great Men Burn Bridges Before They Come To Them

Burning Bridges

Xvii Lady, I Will Touch You With My Mind. Touch You And Touch And Touch Until You Give Me Suddenly A Smile,shyly Obscene (lady I Will Touch You With My Mind.)touch You,that Is All, Lightly And You Utterly Will Become With Infinite Care The Poem Which I Do Not Write.

Lessons Hide In His Wrinkles. Bells Ding In The Oldness Of Eyes. Did He By, Any Chance, Tell Children That There Are Such Monstrous Things As Peace And Goodwill...a Corrupter Of Youth No Doubt.

You Shall Above All Things Be Glad And Young.

May I Be I Is The Only Prayer--not May I Be Great Or Good Or Beautiful Or Wise Or Strong Today... May I Be Me....five Foot Eleven, Brown Hair/eyed, Smart, Serious, Happy, Frustrated, Impatient, Joyful, Running, Sleeping, Smiling, Eating, Trying, Believing, Listening, Being & Becoming.

We Do Not Believe In Ourselves Until Someone Reveals That Deep Inside Us Something Is Valuable, Worth Listening To, Worthy Of Our Trust, Sacred To Our Touch. Once We Believe In Ourselves We Can Risk Curiosity, Wonder, Spontaneous Delight Or Any Experience That Reveals The Human Spirit.

Who Knows If The Moon's / A Balloon, Coming Out Of A Keen City / In The Sky - Filled With Pretty People?

Time Is A Tree (this Life One Leaf) But Love Is The Sky And I Am For You Just So Long And Long Enough

...remember One Thing Only: That It's You-nobody Else-who Determines Your Destiny And Decides Your Fate. Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else.

The Sensual Mysticism Of Entire Vertical Being.

Take The So-called Standard Of Living. What Do Most People Mean By "living"? They Don’t Mean Living. They Mean The Latest And Closest Plural Approximation To Singular Prenatal Passivity Which Science, In Its Finite But Unbounded Wisdom, Has Succeeded In Selling Their Wives.

A Connotation Of Infinity Sharpens The Temporal Splendor Of This Night When Souls Which Have Forgot Frivolity In Lowliness,noting The Fatal Flight Of Worlds Whereto This Earth’s A Hurled Dream Down Eager Avenues Of Lifelessness Consider For How Much Themselves Shall Gleam, In The Poised Radiance Of Perpetualness. When What’s In Velvet Beyond Doomed Thought Is Like A Woman Amorous To Be Known; And Man,whose Here Is Alway Worse Than Naught, Feels The Tremendous Yonder For His Own— On Such A Night The Sea Through Her Blind Miles Of Crumbling Silence Seriously Smiles

A Salesman Is An It That Stinks To Please But Whether To Please Itself Or Someone Else Makes No More Difference Than If It Sells Hate Condoms Education Snakeoil Vac Uumcleaners Terror Strawberries Democ Ra(caveat Emptor)cy Superfluous Hair

Equality Is What Does Not Exist Among Mortals.

It Is With Roses And Locomotives (not To Mention Acrobats Spring Electricity Coney Island The 4th Of July The Eyes Of Mice And Niagara Falls) That My Poems Are Competing.

For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is Somebody To Whom Things Made Matter Very Little - Somebody Who Is Obsessed By Making.

A Poet Is Someone Who Is Abnormally Fond Of That Precision Which Creates Movement. Which Is To Say The Highest Form Of Concentration Possible: Fascination; To Report On The Electrifying Experience Of Being

One Day Anyone Died I Guess (and Noone Stooped To Kiss His Face) Busy Folk Buried Them Side By Side Little By Little And Was By Was

Take The Matter Of Being Born. What Does Being Born Mean To Most People?

Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else.

What If A Much Of A Which Of A Wind Gives The Truth To Summer's Lie; Bloodies With Dizzying Leaves The Sun And Yanks Immortal Stars Awry?

Let It Go -- The Smashed Word Broken Open Vow Or The Oath Cracked Length Wise -- Let It Go It Was Sworn To Go Let Them Go -- The Truthful Liars And The False Fair Friends And The Boths And Neithers -- You Must Let Them Go They Were Born To Go Let All Go -- The Big Small Middling Tall Bigger Really The Biggest And All Things -- Let All Go Dear So Comes Love

A Politician Is An Arse Upon Which Everyone Has Sat Except A Man.

Worms Are The Words But Joy's The Voice

Time Cannot Children,poets,lovers Tell- Measure Imagine,mystery,a Kiss -not Though Mankind Would Rather Know Than Feel

Like The Burlesque Comedian, I Am Abnormally Fond Of That Precision Which Creates Movement.

Since The Thing Perhaps Is To Eat Flowers And Not To Be Afraid

Wholly To Be A Fool While Spring Is In The World My Blood Approves, And Kisses Are A Far Better Fate Than Wisdom Lady I Swear By All Flowers.

Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire, Live By Love Though The Stars Walk Backward.

It May Take Two People To Make A Really Beautiful Mistake.

And This Is The Wonder That's Keeping The Stars Apart I Carry Your Heart [ I Carry It In My Heart ]

O To Be In Finland/ Now That Russia's Here)

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

We Can Never Be Born Enough.

Sweet Springtime Is My Time Is Your Time Is Our Time For Springtime Is Love Time And Viva Sweet Love.

And The Coolness Of Your Smile Is Stirringofbirds Between My Arms

And It's You Are Whatever A Moon Has Always Meant And Whatever A Sun Will Always Sing Is You

Romantic Poetry

Here Is The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows (here Is The Root Of The Root And The Bud Of The Bud And The Sky Of The Sky Of A Tree Called Life; Which Grows Higher Than The Soul Can Hope Or Mind Can Hide) And This Is The Wonder That's Keeping The Stars Apart I Carry Your Heart (i Carry It In My Heart)

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source. It Dies Of Blindness And Errors And Betrayals. It Dies Of Illness And Wounds; It Dies Of Weariness, Of Witherings, Of Tarnishings. Anaïs Nin I Like Not Only To Be Loved, But Also To Be Told I Am Loved. George Eliot Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

Since Feelings Come First, Who Cares About The Syntax Of Things?

Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: - You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

They Believe In Christ And Longfellow, Both Dead

There Is No Music Unless The Drum And The Drummer Are One.

That Strictly(and How)scienti Fic Land Of Supernod Where Freedom Is Compulsory And Only Man Is God.

And Still The Mad Magnificent Herald Spring Assembles Beauty From Forgetfulness With The Wild Trump Of April:witchery Of Sound And Odour Drives The Wingless Thing Man Forth In The Bright Air.

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera.)

What If A Dawn Of A Doom Of A Dream Bites This Universe In Two, Peels Forever Out Of His Grave, And Sprinkles Nowhere With Me And You?

Our Can'ts Were Born To Happen Our Mosts Have Died In More

Mr Youse Needn't Be So Spry Concernin Questions Arty Each Has His Tastes But As For I I Likes A Certain Party Gimme The He-man's Solid Bliss For Youse Ideas I'll Match Youse A Pretty Girl Who Naked Is Is Worth A Million Statues

I Will Take The Sun In My Mouth And Leap Into The Ripe Air Alive With Closed Eyes To Dash Against Darkness

Yes Is A World & In This World Of Yes Live (skilfully Curled) All Worlds

Seeming's Enough For Slaves Of Space And Time - Ours Is The Now And Here Of Freedom. Come.

-tomorrow Is Our Permanent Address And There They’ll Scarcely Find Us(if They Do, We’ll Move Away Still Further:into Now

More Each Particular Person Is(my Love) Alive Than Every World Can Understand And Now You Are And I Am Now And We're A Mystery That Will Never Happen Again, A Miracle Which Has Never Happened Before And Shining This Our Now Must Come To Then

The Intellectuals' Chief Cause Of Anguish Are One Another's Works. Jacques Barzun, 1959 All Ignorance Toboggans Into Know And Trudges Up To Ignorance Again.

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

Really Unreal World, Will You Perhaps Do The Breathing For Me While I Am Away?

How Should Tasting Touching Hearing Seeing Breathing Any Lifted From The No Of All Nothing Human Merely Being Doubt Unimaginable You?

I'm Living So Far Beyond My Income That We May Almost Be Said To Be Living Apart.

At Least The Pilgrim Fathers Used To Shoot Indians: The Pilgrim Children Merely Punch Time Clocks.

The Hardest Challenge Is To Be Yourself In A World Where Everyone Is Trying To Make You Be Somebody Else.

His Lips Drink Water But His Heart Drinks Wine

Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds Who Are The Secrets Of Living Whatever They Sing Is Better Than To Know And If Men Should Not Hear Them Men Are Old May My Mind Stroll About Hungry And Fearless And Thirsty And Supple And Even If It's Sunday May I Be Wrong For Whenever Men Are Right They Are Not Young And May Myself Do Nothing Usefully And Love Yourself So More Than Truly There's Never Been Quite Such A Fool Who Could Fail Pulling All The Sky Over Him With One Smile

One Pierced Moment Whiter Than The Rest -turning From The Tremendous Lie Of Sleep I Watch The Roses Of The Day Grow Deep.

Next To Of Course God America I / Love You Land Of The Pilgrims And So Forth Oh

Miracles Are To Come. With You I Leave A Remembrance Of Miracles: They Are By Somebody Who Can Love And Who Shall Be Continually Reborn, A Human Being.

Women And Men(both Little And Small) Cared For Anyone Not At All They Sowed Their Isn’t They Reaped Their Same Sun Moon Stars Rain

Whenever You Think Or You Believe Or You Know, You're A Lot Of Other People: But The Moment You Feel, You're Nobody-but-yourself.

Seeker Of Truth Follow No Path All Paths Lead Where Truth Is Here.

All In Green Went My Love Riding

You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.

What Concerns Me Fundamentaly Is A Meteoric Burlesk Melodrama, Born Of The Immemorial Adage Love Will Find A Way.

Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

(and From My Thighs Which Shrug And Pant A Murdering Rain Leapingly Reaches The Upward Singular Deepest Flower Which She Carries In A Gesture Of Her Hips)

Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond Any Experience, Your Eyes Have Their Silence; In Your Most Frail Gesture Are Things Which Enclose Me, Or Which I Cannot Touch Because They Are Too Near

O Sweet Spontaneous Earth

When God Decided To Invent Everything He Took One Reath Bigger Than A Circustent And Everything Began

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