The Lovers
There where the waves shatter on the restless rocks
the clear light bursts and enacts its rose,
and the sea-circle shrinks to a cluster of buds,
to one drop of blue salt, falling.
O bright magnolia bursting in the foam,
magnetic transient whose death blooms
and vanishes–being, nothingness–forever:
broken salt, dazzling lurch of the sea.
You & I, Love, together we ratify the silence,
while the sea destroys its perpetual statues,
collapses its towers of wild speed and whiteness:
because in the weavings of those invisible fabrics,
galloping water, incessant sand,
we make the only permanent tenderness.
Pablo Neruda
Now that, more nearest even than your fate
and mine (or any truth beyond perceive)
quivers this miracle of summer night
her trillion secrets touchably alive
—while and all mysteries which i or you
(blinded by merely things believable)
could only fancy we should never know
are unimaginably ours to feel—
how should some world (we marvel) doubt, for just
sweet terrifying the particular
moment it takes one very falling most
(there:did you see it?) star to disappear,
the hugest whole creation may be less
incalculable than a single kiss
e.e. cummings
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 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 each other: thenlaugh,
leaning back in my armsfor life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
e.e. cummings
You are tired
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away-
(Only you and I, understand!)
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.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart-
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probably stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Wich shall keep
(I think)
your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
—while and all mysteries which i or you
(blinded by merely things believable)
could only fancy we should never know
are unimaginably ours to feel—
how should some world (we marvel) doubt, for just
sweet terrifying the particular
moment it takes one very falling most
(there:did you see it?)star to disappear,
the hugest whole creation may be less
incalculable than a single kiss
e.e. cummings
