Page:Five Poems, E. E. Cummings, 1920.djvu/2

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Five Poems

II

O sweet spontaneousearth how often havethedoting
               fingers ofprurient philosophies pinchedandpoked
theehas the naughty thumbof science proddedthy
      beauty        howoften have religions takenthee upon their scraggyknees squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceivegods       buttrue
to the incomparablecouch of death thyrhythmiclover
       thou answerest
them only with
                     spring
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