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Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?

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
Passion
Crown
Soul
Crowns
Come
Passions
Spiky
Love
Conquer
Spear
Rage
Bitter
Spears
Brought
Violet
Sorrow
Thorns

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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
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Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight like the wave.
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In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
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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.
Pablo Neruda
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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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On our earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished. That is why we know that poetry is like bread it should be shared by all, by scholars and by peasants, by all our vast, incredible, extraordinary family of humanity.
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And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.
Pablo Neruda
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Here I came to the very edge where nothing at all needs saying, everything is absorbed through weather and the sea, and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered, and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave, and every day on the balcony of the sea, wings open, fire is born, and everything is blue again like morning.
Pablo Neruda
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When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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The Ardent Hymn that Unites Peoples.
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But when I call for a hero, out comes my lazy old self so I never know who I am, nor how many I am or will be. I'd love to be able to touch a bell and summon the real me, because if I really need myself, I mustn't disappear.
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I love you only because it's you the one I love I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Pablo Neruda
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Pablo Neruda