Poem of the Week, by E.E. Cummings

Screen Shot 2018-04-05 at 8.44.54 AMSometimes I dream that I’m trying to get to Paris. I’m at the airport but I left my passport at home, and I can’t get a cab to go fetch it, and once I’m home I can’t remember where the passport is, and once I’m back at the airport I’m at the wrong terminal, and now I can’t find my ticket, and what happened to my roller bag, and, and, and this dream goes on all night long and I wake up exhausted. Sometimes don’t you want to step out of yourself for a day, or even a few hours, and just be someone else? Or no one else? This is when you need to read the poem below, by the hypnotic Mr. Cummings, because he knows exactly how you feel.


You Are Tired, by Edward Estlin Cummings

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away —
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and —
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart —
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.


​For more information on E.E. Cummings, please click here.​

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