This page needs to be proofread.
E. E. CUMMINGS
579
III
but the other
day i was passing a certain
gaterain
gatefellas it will
In spring
ropes
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness
as if god's flowers were
pulling upon bells of
goldi looked
up
and
thought to myselfdeath
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch
the pink hollyhock existence whose
pansy eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchanginglythe always
old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken
softlyat whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding
