I by Pablo Neruda (tr. W.S. Merwin), from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
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But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
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I want
To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
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I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
— Pablo Neruda, “Every Day You Play” (from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair)
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And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
- Pablo Neruda, So That You Will Hear Me. From Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, trans. W. S. Merwin.
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I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
(from "Every Day You Play" by Pablo Neruda)
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“I want to fill my mouth with your name.”
— Pablo Neruda, from “Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair.”
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So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches.
Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.
And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
It climbs the same way on damp walls.
You are to blame for this cruel sport.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill everything.
Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish.
But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.
I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.
So That You Will Hear Me by Pablo Neruda
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I by Pablo Neruda (tr. W.S. Merwin), from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
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Dark riverbeds where eternal thirst follows,
and fatigue follows, and infinite sorrow.
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Pablo Neruda, from “I Have Gone Marking”, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
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