The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.
A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and palled people
your newly born, takes nourishment.
Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.
His writings are beautiful and even complex!
The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul, ..................................................... Marvelous imagery blended with its excellent metaphor.
On your dark garment! Nice work.
Great poem. The imagery of great roots growing from your soul and the slave of the circle that moves through black and gold (the sun?) and the ending paradox, that fullness of life imples decay and sadness
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead and filled with the lives of fire, pure heir of the ruined day. A poem of excellence. Amazing poet.
The more you read Pablo the more you get fascinated to read his work I really admire his writing skills
What more could Pablo have now written about had he not lived in such primitive time's.. iip
Deserves a lot more than a 5.6 This is a powerful piece on the end of day, death and the cycle os sun, moon and nature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
another great poem by mr. Neruda!