the hills
like poets put on
purple thought against
the
magnificent clamor of
day
tortured
in gold, which presently
crumpled
collapses
exhaling a red soul into the dark
so
duneyed master
enter
the sweet gates
of my heart and
take
the
rose,
which perfect
is
With killing hands
(E. E. Cummings)
More Poetry from E. E. Cummings:
E. E. Cummings Poems based on Topics: Gold, Perfection- Puella Mea (E. E. Cummings Poems)
- The Eagle (E. E. Cummings Poems)
- Young Woman of Cambridge, (E. E. Cummings Poems)
- listen (E. E. Cummings Poems)
- voices to voices,lip to lip (E. E. Cummings Poems)
- Ballad of the Scholar's Lament (E. E. Cummings Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Gold Poems, Perfection PoemsBased on Keywords: collapses, exhaling