E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

into the strenuous briefness
Life:
handorgans and April
darkness,friends

somewhere i have never travelled,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

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe

"kitty". sixteen,5'1", white, prostitute.
ducking always the touch of must and shall,
whose slippery body is Death's littlest pal,
skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute.

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)

Buffalo Bill ’s
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver

the bigness of cannon
is skilful,
but i have seen
death’s clever enormous voice