somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by e. e. cummings
- somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
- any experience,your eyes have their silence:
- in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
- or which i cannot touch because they are too near
- your slightest look easily will unclose me
- though i have closed myself as fingers,
- you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
- (touching skilfully, mysteriously)her first rose
- or if your wish be to close me,i and
- my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
- as when the heart of this flower imagines
- the snow carefully everywhere descending;
- nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
- the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
- compels me with the colour of its countries,
- rendering death and forever with each breathing
- (i do not know what it is about you that closes
- and opens;only something in me understands
- the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
- nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands