E. E. Cummings

100 Selected Poems


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merry deer ran before.

      Fleeter be they than dappled dreams

      the swift sweet deer

      the red rare deer.

      Four red roebuck at a white water

      the cruel bugle sang before.

      Horn at hip went my love riding

      riding the echo down

      into the silver dawn.

      four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

      the level meadows ran before.

      Softer be they than slippered sleep

      the lean lithe deer

      the fleet flown deer.

      Four fleet does at a gold valley

      the famished arrow sang before.

      Bow at belt went my love riding

      riding the mountain down

      into the silver dawn.

      four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

      the sheer peaks ran before.

      Paler be they than daunting death

      the sleek slim deer

      the tall tense deer.

      Four tall stags at a green mountain

      the lucky hunter sang before.

      All in green went my love riding

      on a great horse of gold

      into the silver dawn.

      four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

      my heart fell dead before.

      when god lets my body be

      From each brave eye shall sprout a tree

      fruit that dangles therefrom

      the purpled world will dance upon

      Between my lips which did sing

      a rose shall beget the spring

      that maidens whom passion wastes

      will lay between their little breasts

      My strong fingers beneath the snow

      Into strenuous birds shall go

      my love walking in the grass

      their wings will touch with her face

      and all the while shall my heart be

      With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea

      in Just-

      spring when the world is mud-

      luscious the little

      lame balloonman

      whistles far and wee

      and eddieandbill come

      running from marbles and

      piracies and it’s

      spring

      when the world is puddle-wonderful

      the queer

      old balloonman whistles

      far and wee

      and bettyandisbel come dancing

      from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

      it’s

      spring

      and

      the

      goat-footed

      balloonMan whistles

      far

      and

      wee

      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)

      Buffalo Bill’s

      defunct

      who used to

      ride a watersmooth-silver

      stallion

      and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

      Jesus

      he was a handsome man

      and what i want to know is

      how do you like your blueeyed boy

      Mister Death

      the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls

      are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds

      (also, with the church’s protestant blessings

      daughters, unscented shapeless spirited)

      they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,

      are invariably interested in so many things—

      at the present writing one still finds

      delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?

      perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy

      scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D

      . . . . the Cambridge ladies do not care, above

      Cambridge if sometimes in its box of

      sky lavender and cornerless, the

      moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

      it may not always be so; and i say

      that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch

      another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch

      his heart, as mine in time not far away;

      if on another’s face your sweet hair lay

      in