„somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany 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 methough i have closed myself as fingers,you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously)her first rose or if it be your wish to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully, suddenlyas the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility: whose texturecompels me with the colour of its countriesrendering death and forever with each breathing“

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