Inside The Hearts' Walls

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting  

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked  

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy  

beauty, how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and  

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true  

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover  

thou answerest  

them only with  

spring)

- e.e.cummings