Comment 7 of 7, added on December 12th, 2015 at 10:57 PM.
Hey there, sweet no
Hey there, sweet noodle. ... :)Every time I read one of your poems
llaety, I think that surely this is your best one. And then you go ahead
and write another best one .. Like this one here.I hope you are enjoying
your late summer days.
Atinderpal from Trinidad and Tobago, Republic
Comment 6 of 7, added on February 13th, 2012 at 12:28 PM.
The material is on the five plus. But there is a minus! My internet speed
56kb/sek. The page was loading for about 40 seconds!....
Cherry Hill NJ personal trainer
Comment 5 of 7, added on February 13th, 2012 at 12:06 PM.
Yeah� I read and I understand that I do not understand anything what it
Comment 3 of 7, added on February 13th, 2012 at 11:20 AM.
Good! Wish everybody wrote so:DD
Comment 2 of 7, added on February 12th, 2012 at 5:30 AM.
VXx1Kb I must admit, the webmaster has written cool..!
cheap oem software
from South Africa
Comment 1 of 7, added on March 19th, 2005 at 3:27 PM.
I love that cummings' poetry can be read simply for a feeling.
I am sure that a thousand different readings of this poem could be
presented; a thousand interpretations of the "you" and the "her" and the
"me." cummings could be mourning a lover lost (just at the setting of the
metaphorical "sun" on the relationship) to the "you, silently who are," a
lover who he "smile[s] with knowing," who in her "largest final air" has
hurled all his dreams downward.
Perhaps he is reveling in a current love, enjoying pondering her clingy
quality in the soft twilight.
The others spoken of in the poem could just as easily be friends--friends
more successful, friends more beautiful, friends who have left him in the
But I enjoy simply reading the poem for its overall feeling. Many a time
have I stared out a window as the sun has just set, dreaming about all that
has been, all that may be, and all that will never be. There's something
sort of magical about that time when the sun is only just beyond the
horizon--its warmth is still close enough to feel in the air, yet you know
that beyond lies hours of the mystical darkness of night, penetrated only
by the "new moon, thinner than a hair."
I love cummings' poetry.