i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities — i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am no… - E. E. Cummings
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i am a little church(no great cathedral) far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities — i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest, i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower; my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving (finding and losing and laughing and crying)children whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing birth and glory and death and resurrection: over my sleeping self float flaming symbols of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church(far from the frantic world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature — i do not worry if longer nights grow longest; i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to merciful Him Whose only now is forever: standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence (welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
Edward Estlin Cummings (October 14 1894 – September 3 1962) was an American poet. Because of the typography used in many of his works it has become a widespread tradition for his name to be presented in lower case as e. e. cummings, though he himself continued to use uppercase letters in signing his own name.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, New York World-Telegram and the Sun staff photographer: Albertin, Walter, photographer. (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Birth Name:
Edward Estlin Cummings
Alternative Names:
e. e. cummings
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E. Estlin Cummings
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e e cummings
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EE cummings
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Edward Eatlin Cummings
Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence. in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if it be your wish to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly as the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries rendering death and forever with each breathing
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Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn, a human being.
