“though your sorrows not
any tongue may name,
three i’ll give you sweet
joys for each of them
But it must be your”
whispers that flower
murmurs eager this
“i will give you five
hopes for any fear,
but it Must be your”
perfectly alive
blossom of a bliss
“seven heavens for
just one dying,i’ll
give you” silently
cries the(whom we call
rose a)mystery
“but it must be Your”
ee cummings (USA, 1894-1962)