it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
 
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
 
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
 
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
 
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
 
—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by E. E. Cummings...