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somewhere i have never travelled
! ]2 O2 \% x! ^by E. E. Cummings! K( O, R, I9 d
$ d, H+ x2 L9 p
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
# m! u% n ?/ J* Y' gany experience,your eyes have their silence:& k4 a' v" E( b* D, i
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
) o) i2 P; r# v. f, W& V+ R+ hor which i cannot touch because they are too near
6 A: L. a7 m* q* K9 Q
3 v& N1 A, U% oyour slightest look easily will unclose me1 a) P' N1 A) R! D0 i
though i have closed myself as fingers,( Z* a: k9 g) a: }7 x+ y9 d, {' I
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens4 a" s7 A% n- q" v
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose" A0 W9 ]$ C, p* P
/ x# }# n j k, V) yor if your wish be to close me, i and& Z6 y2 y8 ` U+ X4 l! I# y) v2 U
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
$ q4 \3 L0 y. U; v+ Qas when the heart of this flower imagines
9 r4 m6 G- _& [3 A( Ythe snow carefully everywhere descending;( E5 U3 U0 t" |4 c* t- z0 F
6 s0 M5 @) I6 H! G$ dnothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
2 n2 Z( B7 Y8 p7 z, G" o# B1 i; Fthe power of your intense fragility:whose texture9 l" c3 D- l, o# Z$ a) l
compels me with the color of its countries,* ? b" s5 u$ v/ }5 G8 a& w- J
rendering death and forever with each breathing; l9 `7 k. x$ f7 O; u: H
" F7 `- b0 v3 R- b(i do not know what it is about you that closes
, B% e: ~. U' @; u* h% B4 d7 Qand opens;only something in me understands
% e. {5 i' t& i! cthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)4 S) l8 d: v% n) M
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands) B; j3 H4 C! q0 v5 u3 f0 `
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