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Pablo Neruda (12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)
In My Sky At Twilight
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.
Read poems about / on: music, believe, wind, woman, sky, song, water, love, life, dream, women
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my love sent me this poem! it's beautiful.
This poem is so beautiful. It's my favorite Neruda poem that I've read so far. 'Huntress of the depth of my eyes' and 'my nets of music are as wide as the sky' are such beautiful lines. The beauty of his love... What an amazing talent!
your poems are just....beautiful, when i get a little older i wish to write like you, so good, so, so, i don't know how to explain....
dear pablo,
may i
add these lines;
through your eyes
i see a part of myself
a generous part
afforded by you, love
and in my eyes
perhaps you see a
part of yourself too
those parts that
make us reach
into each other's soul
CORRECTION-Your site has listed the author of this poem as Pablo Neruda. In actualilty, it is another Nobel laureatte, Rabindranath Takhur (Tagore) , the first Prize winner of India, who is the author. Neruda interpreted Tagore's poem into Spanish from Tagore's poetry book, 'The Gardner, ' or as Neruda translated it, 'El Jardino.' Please make the necessary corrections. As a point of reference, you can look at the Penguin publication of Neruda's 'Twenty Love Poems and A Song of Despair.' I believe the poem is numbered in the teens,16 perhaps.
When I read his words, I cry. He moves me.