Thy fingers make early flowers

Violet Robe and Anemone by Henri Matisse

Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings, saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says; singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death, thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing, it shall not stop kissing).

- e e cummings