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 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
This poem, most famous for its concluding line, I re-found in Rosie Alison's new novel, The Very Thought of You. In that context, it's an oblique but unequivocal declaration of love. Here, it's just lovely enough for a summer day. I hope you enjoy it.
Please share a favorite poem with us - either on your own site, linked below and then linked back here or in the comments below - as another gift of summer.
As always, please support the artists who change us with their art, and the groups that support those artists as well - in this case, the source of this poem, The Academy of American Poets website poets.org, where you can also print a lovely card featuring an illuminated version of the final stanza above.