by e.e. cummings
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the first of all my dreams was of
a lover and his only love,
strolling slowly (mind in mind)
through some green mysterious land
-
until my second dream begins—
the sky is wild with leaves; which dance
and dancing swoop (and swooping whirl
over a frightened boy and girl)
-
but that mere fury soon became
silence: in hunger always whom
two tiny selves sleep (doll by doll)
motionless under magical
-
foreverfully falling snow.
And then this dreamer wept: and so
she quickly dreamed a dream of spring
—how you and i are blossoming
