Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked. The Morning is Full. for more e-books, visit www.intexblogger.com TWENTY LOVE POEMS AND A SONG OF DESPAIR pablo neruda I Body of a Woman Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs, you look like a world, lying in surrender. You are taken in the net of my music, my love, and my nets of music are wide as the sky. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands. You are to blame for this cruel sport. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of good-bye, the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands. It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. XIX Girl Lithe and Tawny Girl lithe and tawny, the sun that forms the fruits, that plumps the grains, that curls seaweeds filled your body with joy, and your luminous eyes and your mouth that has the smile of water. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. I awoke and at times the birds fled and migrated that had been sleeping in your soul. My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once? While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. So many times have we seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans. When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit my heart closes like a nocturnal flower. No current Talk conversations about this book. Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes. I no longer love her, that's for certain, but how I loved her. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. Even so, something sings in these fugitive words. The Song of Despair The memory of you emerges from the night around me. Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy. The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse. Oh the mad coupling of hope and force in which we merged and despaired. They are fleeing from my dark lair. The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. IV The Morning Is Full The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. Copyright LibraryThing and/or members of LibraryThing, authors, publishers, libraries, cover designers, Amazon, Bol, Bruna, etc. White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent. $$FM III Ah Vastness of Pines Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking, slow play of lights, solitary bell, twilight falling in your eyes, toy doll, earth-shell, in whom the earth sings! I like for you to be still: it is though you were absent, distant and full of sorrow as though you had died. Ah you who are silent! Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well. Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate. Information from the French Common Knowledge. Rumbling, storm, cyclone of fury, you cross above my heart without stopping. Only the tremulous shadow twists in my hands. Oh the eyes of absence! The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of good-bye, the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. Its utterly sad that Pablo Neruda never learned to rhyme. There was the black solitude of the islands, and there, woman of love, your arms took me in. Longing that sliced my breast into pieces, it is time to take another road, on which she does not smile. Oh you do not run away. The snow unfurls in dancing figures. Neruda was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1971. Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to the sea that beats on your marine eyes. You play with the sun as with a little brook and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. Everything bears me farther away, as though you were noon. Where were you then? 4:20 "Tonight I … In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst. Learn how we and our ad partner Google, collect and use data.
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