e.e. cummings






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.