Against Myself the Sharp Days Slobber in Vain

{I am hosting a slumber party for four young girls tonight, and there is not much slumbering going on.  So let me be brief.}

Isn't this excerpt from an E.E. Cummings' poem lovely?  It fluttered into my mind today, and I thought I'd share.

you are like the snow only
purer fleeter, like the rain
only sweeter frailer you
whom certain 
flowers resemble but trembling (cowards 
which fear to miss within your least gesture the hurting
skill which lives) . . .
. . . you give me 
courage
so that against myself
the sharp days slobber in vain

I just love this.  Love is a good thing.  The kind of love that makes you more courageous.  The kind of love that makes you stronger and impenetrable so that the sharp things life throws at you slip off.  Liquified.  Thwarted.