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somewhere i have never travelled 1 f& `+ x4 z- N( [" f" C
by E. E. Cummings; l, n) S- c* q- g9 c8 x0 r
# i9 F1 W) |: L, c4 J; Psomewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond2 N$ N, ?- J6 E8 A" B5 i. z# @
any experience,your eyes have their silence:7 i% o: q6 j) k% @
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
1 l2 M# k3 U( E1 ^or which i cannot touch because they are too near
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your slightest look easily will unclose me& }! ^; v% l, E) e! Q, w7 ~
though i have closed myself as fingers,
" i, k3 c% w( M" S( |you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens# k. O L6 K9 M4 ]: B
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
+ \1 O: j0 r: o* o6 m3 s- M4 R+ {$ \! s3 x) O2 c/ s
or if your wish be to close me, i and
3 e8 h' f J/ G& G8 y- u0 mmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
8 u& Q/ H' q; U" Y. ]as when the heart of this flower imagines
4 S# f2 W* H& g& y8 u& P" R$ `) ?the snow carefully everywhere descending;- W* I- I5 ` s" B; a: \2 O1 w ]( H
2 _7 j; ^1 F4 o" Y0 ^6 F% K5 D
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals) z- g1 f% S* O
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
2 K% }/ J3 j: V# T) ?/ icompels me with the color of its countries,' F, @* D9 u; g9 z' C
rendering death and forever with each breathing* L7 _- n- b6 y
+ `, o! @. t, l6 ?4 P# ?(i do not know what it is about you that closes7 w3 i7 d6 }4 c
and opens;only something in me understands
8 q+ Q' t4 n! P. w- N; Ethe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)( K/ U6 I& v7 q: l# t
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands) ?% [' v+ D6 f, [3 f5 S
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