Pablo Neruda

10 poems

It was passed from one bird to another, / the whole gift of the day.

How neatly a cat sleeps, / sleeps with its paws and its posture,

I do not love you except because I love you; / I go from loving to not loving you,

I want you to know / one thing.

And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream. / Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.

If your eyes were not the color of the moon, / of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, / or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: / I wavered through the streets, among

An odor has remained among the sugarcane: / a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating

Take bread away from me, if you wish, / take air away, but