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somewhere i have never travelled
/ a6 o. h, s: O" }by E. E. Cummings
7 V w, Y1 y, ]0 T
0 i6 V" c, k4 Bsomewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond6 |- o+ W- u9 s- Y7 B5 B; n- \' p
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
% C! u4 c2 U. _. B# din your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,, [+ _% Y3 v; V/ N' N/ A
or which i cannot touch because they are too near0 H7 g8 _+ w1 v3 |# }. [5 Y+ u W
* j3 l$ b4 ~: a/ E( Q
your slightest look easily will unclose me0 G2 f) x5 i1 U% O/ k* R
though i have closed myself as fingers,
. I4 B8 @' d I' X7 kyou open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens2 k# |3 D& [. ~% ^) `
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose+ R% Y9 l0 {, ]$ \
4 d9 Q" f! V6 U+ Yor if your wish be to close me, i and5 W7 j) \9 `% [3 F
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
% N# y c# P/ nas when the heart of this flower imagines
' e) W7 S) B3 I& V! qthe snow carefully everywhere descending;
# C0 b; @. K2 i2 R. ~
# u+ n( L- y0 \3 q" P+ ~nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals3 I( `6 x! @4 \
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture) e7 Z4 E) s9 Y$ h" i, q9 R
compels me with the color of its countries,9 D+ Z) z& e3 L D/ w8 M+ A
rendering death and forever with each breathing5 Y' `( @9 Z9 F: G
P1 ]( K6 G9 p. Y
(i do not know what it is about you that closes' L( [; i( O9 ^( a
and opens;only something in me understands
; V' n/ j$ I9 _; pthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
( R S, N# ]/ _8 s3 Inobody,not even the rain,has such small hands2 s8 I$ ` T0 G, \8 I) N
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