Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings,saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.
thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?
To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).
Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers
E. E. Cummings
(1)
Poem topics: death, fear, girl, hair, life, sweet, small, early, Valentine's Day, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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