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, misteriously) 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 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
ee cummings
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
Emily Dickinson
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.
W.B. Yeats
This Be the Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another's throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself.
Philip Larkin