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Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?

Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
Age: 69 †
Born: 1904
Born: July 12
Died: 1973
Died: September 23
Author
Autobiographer
Diplomat
Lyricist
Poet
Politician
Senator Of Chile
Nieh-lu-ta
Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
Pamplo Nerouda
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes
Bāblū Nīrūdā
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Nieluda
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Reyes Basualto
Neftali Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Ricardo Reyes
Neftalí Reyes Basualto
Pāplō Nerūda
Spilled
Lakes
Wait
Tears
Small
Waiting

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The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance.
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I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
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How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
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Poetry is an act of peace.
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Love is a clash of lightnings
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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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I had no more alphabet than the journeying of the swallows, the pure and tiny water of the small, fiery bird that dances rising from the pollen.
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Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
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And here am I, budding among the ruins with only sorrow to bite on, as if weeping were a seed and I the earth's only furrow.
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my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.
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And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.
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Under your skin the moon is alive.
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O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
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What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
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