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 will easily 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 color 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