This Is The Garden:colours Come And Go

E. E. Cummings

this is the garden:colours come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night’s outer wing
strong silent greens silently lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden:pursed lips do blow
upon cool flutes within wide glooms,and sing
(of harps celestial to the quivering string)
invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

This is the garden. Time shall surely reap
and on Death’s blade lie many a flower curled,
in other lands where other songs be sung;
yet stand They here enraptured,as among
the slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.

Next 10 Poems

• E. E. Cummings : Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers
• E. E. Cummings : Tumbling-hair
• E. E. Cummings : Unto Thee I
• E. E. Cummings : When God Lets My Body Be
• E. E. Cummings : When I Have Thought Of You Somewhat Too
• E. E. Cummings : When Life Is Quite Through With
• E. E. Cummings : When My Love Comes To See Me It's
• E. E. Cummings : When The Proficient Poison Of Sure Sleep
• E. E. Cummings : When Thou Hast Taken Thy Last Applause,and When
• E. E. Cummings : When You Went Away It Was Morning

Previous 10 Poems

• E. E. Cummings : There Is A
• E. E. Cummings : The Wind Is A Lady With
• E. E. Cummings : The Sky Was
• E. E. Cummings : The Sky A Silver
• E. E. Cummings : The Skinny Voice
• E. E. Cummings : The Rose
• E. E. Cummings : The Poem Her Belly Marched Through Me As
• E. E. Cummings : The Phonograph's Voice Like A Keen Spider Skipping
• E. E. Cummings : The Moon Is Hiding In
• E. E. Cummings : The Mind Is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner