http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/eecummings/11909
here’s to opening and upward,
to leaf and to sap and to your
(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell
of the sound of rain and
here’s to silent certainly mountains;
and to a disappering poet
of always, snow and to morning;
and to morning’s beautiful friend twilight
(and a first dream called ocean)
and let must or if be damned
with whomever’s afraid
down with ought with because
with every brain which thinks
it thinks, nor dares to feel
(but up with joy; and up
with laughing and drunkenness)
here’s to one undiscoverable
guess of whose mad skill each
world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon)
I have enjoyed a beautiful half moon tonight….walking from the studio to the house! Good night, dear world! Be kind to those who are lonely or hopeless tonight.
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