In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song.
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
3 comments:
this is very pretty.
i meant, both are pretty, the pic and the poem.
OhNo. You've gone and won me over by posting such refreshing art and then posting Neruda. :)
My very first post (blog on design and style) was An Ode To Clothes by Neruda. Have you watched Il Postino, the Italian movie? It was my introduction to Don Pablo and since there has been no looking back! ;)
Thank you RepublicOfChic. I am gonna have to watch the movie now. Thanks for sharing.
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