A delicate and deeply romantic piece featuring the beloved poem “somewhere i have never travelled” by E.E. Cummings. This literary art print captures the vulnerability and awe of love — how it opens us, softens us, and reaches parts of us no one else can.
Set in a typewriter-style font with soft botanical illustration, this design brings poetic charm to any bedroom, reading nook, or intimate space. Also available in minimalist black or plain white backgrounds for a cleaner look.
Whether for an anniversary, a wedding, or simply to express how deeply you love, this print speaks straight to the heart.
🖤 Also available professionally framed (select your option in the dropdown menu).
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✓ Product Details:
✓ Available unframed or professionally framed
✓ Multiple background options – illustrated, black, or white
✓ High-quality photographic print
✓ Printed on archival lustre paper for long-lasting beauty
✓ Carefully wrapped and shipped in moisture-resistant packaging
✓ Web resolution reduced for preview; final product is high-resolution
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Perfect for:
✓ Anniversary or wedding gift
✓ Literary lovers and poetry fans
✓ Romantic bedroom or personal space
✓ Valentine’s Day or meaningful birthday present
✓ A quiet reminder of deep connection
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Use the code DESCRIPTION15 for 15% off your order of unframed prints.
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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 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
