Somewhere I have never travelled

I do not remember if I shared this before, and because blogspot will not let me look at my July entries, I shall just repost because this is good enough for you to look at a second time.

Introducing 'Somewhere I Have Never Travelled', by E.E. Cummings
(And yes, this is all how he wrote it; I'm not copying from a gramatically-challenged website somewhere)



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 skillfully, 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


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The love abounds for that phrase 'not even the rain has such small hands'. Kudos to Cummings for the imagery.

And now for your favorite part, the pretty pictures: