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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
Love
Conquer
Spiky
Rage
Spear
Bitter
Spears
Brought
Violet
Sorrow
Thorns

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As slippery as smooth grapes, words exploding in the light like dormant seeds waiting in the vaults of vocabulary, alive again, and giving life: once again the heart distills them.
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There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.
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I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.
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Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.
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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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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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I do not love you-except because I love you I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.
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I say love, and the world populates itself with doves.
Pablo Neruda
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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.
Pablo Neruda
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
Pablo Neruda
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Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Pablo Neruda
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Pablo Neruda