"O sweet spontaneous" by E. E. Cummings




O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
                   fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked


thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
         beauty         .how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
                 (but
true


to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover


      thou answerest

them only with
                   spring)

 


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