If I have made, my lady, intricate <br />imperfect various things chiefly which wrong <br />your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail) <br />songs less firm than your body's whitest song <br />upon my mind - if I have failed to snare <br />the glance too shy - if through my singing slips <br />the very skillful strangeness of your smile <br />the keen primeval silence of your hair <br /> <br />- let the world say "his most wise music stole <br />nothing from death" - <br /> you will only create <br />(who are so perfectly alive) my shame: <br />lady whose profound and fragile lips <br />the sweet small clumsy feet of April came <br /> <br />into the ragged meadow of my soul.<br /><br />Edward Estlin Cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-i-have-made-my-lady-intricate-2/
