Since love is in the air, I would like to post two of my ultimate favorite classic love poems by E.E. Cummings... As a child, I used to recite the second poem below very often. Must be coz that was the theme song of Beauty and the Beast, the TV series (not the cartoons one), and I used to love that show.
i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
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 open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously)
her first rose or if your wish be to close me,
i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully
everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
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