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 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 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
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
