What is your most favourite poem for all time?...and Why has it made such an imp

Question:"somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I can not touch because they are too near

Your slightest look will easily enclose 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 you wish to close me, i
and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower images
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."

To me the poet describes the HEART of the Rose!
Thanks

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker: "somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I can not touch because they are too near

Your slightest look will easily enclose 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 you wish to close me, i
and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower images
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."

To me the poet describes the HEART of the Rose!
Thanks

Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

i can't explain why i love this poem so much. it's just beautiful.
i also love:

Symptom Recital by Dorothy Parker

I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men....
I'm due to fall in love again.

I don't have any all-time favorite poems -- I have poets and books of poetry I especially like, but I read too much and my tastes are too eclectic to have any particular favorite.

Music is the only poetry I know http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=F3eXuTgns5... G and this http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ktUSIJEiOu...

Have mercy upon us.
Have mercy upon our efforts,
That we before Thee
In love and faith,
Righteousness and humility,
May follow Thee,
With self-denial, steadfastness, and courage,
And meet Thee
In the silence.

Give us
A pure heart
That we may see Thee,
A humble heart
That we may hear Thee,
A heart of love
That we may serve Thee,
A heart of faith
That we may love Thee.

by Dag Hammarskjold

Robert Frost - either

"Mending Wall"

Something there is that doesn't love a wall....

or "Birches"

...One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

I think it's either "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost or "Because I could Not stop For Death" by Emily Dickinson.

I've taken a road not often traveled and found some lovely sights I would never have seen if I had taken the road everyone else took And if I am to busy to stop to die, lol!