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Best Famous Pablo Neruda Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Pablo Neruda poems. This is a select list of the best famous Pablo Neruda poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Pablo Neruda poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Pablo Neruda poems.

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by Pablo Neruda | |

Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII)

 Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba; You've vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow As summer in a golden church.
Naked you are tiny as one of your nails; Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born And you withdraw to the underground world.
As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores; Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves, And becomes a naked hand again.


by Pablo Neruda | |

XVII (I do not love you...)

 I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Drunk As Drunk

 Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice And equinox, drowsy and tangled together We drifted for months and woke With the bitter taste of land on our lips, Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime And the sound of a rope Lowering a bucket down its well.
Then, We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish Under the net of our kisses.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Come With Me I Said And No One Knew (VII)

 Come with me, I said, and no one knew
where, or how my pain throbbed,
no carnations or barcaroles for me, 
only a wound that love had opened.
I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying, and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth or the blood that rose into the silence.
O Love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns! That is why when I heard your voice repeat Come with me, it was as if you had let loose the grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine the geysers flooding from deep in its vault: in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again, of blood and carnations, of rock and scald.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Love Sonnet XVII

 I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; So I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Dont Go Far Off Not Even For A Day

 Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -- 
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long 
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station 
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?


by Pablo Neruda | |

Love

 What's wrong with you, with us, 
what's happening to us? 
Ah our love is a harsh cord 
that binds us wounding us 
and if we want 
to leave our wound, 
to separate, 
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us 
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you and I find nothing in you but two eyes like all eyes, a mouth lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful, a body just like those that have slipped beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world like a wheat-colored jar without air, without sound, without substance! I vainly sought in you depth for my arms that dig, without cease, beneath the earth: beneath your skin, beneath your eyes, nothing, beneath your double breast scarcely raised a current of crystalline order that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why, my love, why?


by Pablo Neruda | |

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

 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 cold to fire.
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.
Maybe January light will consume My heart with its cruel Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.


by Pablo Neruda | |

I Like For You To Be Still

 I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true


by Pablo Neruda | |

Leaning Into The Afternoons

 Leaning into the afternoons,
I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes.
There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames; Its arms turning like a drowning man's.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes That wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness my distant female; >From your regard sometimes, the coast of dread emerges.
Leaning into the afternoons, I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed By your oceanic eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars That flash like my soul when I love you.
The night, gallops on its shadowy mare Shedding blue tassels over the land.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Clenched Soul

 We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away? The book fell that always closed at twilight and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings toward the twilight erasing statues.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Your Feet

 When I cannot look at your face 
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet.
I know that they support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, my little tower.
But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.


by Pablo Neruda | |

I crave your mouth your voice your hair

 Don't go far off, not even for a day
Don't go far off, not even for a day, 
Because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are 
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then The little drops of anguish will all run together, The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift Into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve On the beach, may your eyelids never flutter Into the empty distance.
Don't LEAVE me for A second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll Have gone so far I'll wander mazily Over all the earth, asking, will you Come back? Will you leave me here, dying?


by Pablo Neruda | |

Always

 I am not jealous
of what came before me.
Come with a man on your shoulders, come with a hundred men in your hair, come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet, come like a river full of drowned men which flows down to the wild sea, to the eternal surf, to Time! Bring them all to where I am waiting for you; we shall always be alone, we shall always be you and I alone on earth to start our life!


by Pablo Neruda | |

The Light Wraps You

 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.


by Pablo Neruda | |

XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea)

 You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water; cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise; your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell; you know the deep essence of water and the earth, conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces, they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms that push back the shadows so that you can rest-- vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Ode To The Onion

 Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth the miracle happened and when your clumsy green stem appeared, and your leaves were born like swords in the garden, the earth heaped up her power showing your naked transparency, and as the remote sea in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite duplicating the magnolia, so did the earth make you, onion clear as a planet and destined to shine, constant constellation, round rose of water, upon the table of the poor.
You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists, but to me, onion, you are more beautiful than a bird of dazzling feathers, heavenly globe, platinum goblet, unmoving dance of the snowy anemone and the fragrance of the earth lives in your crystalline nature.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Tower Of Light

 O tower of light, sad beauty
that magnified necklaces and statues in the sea,
calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry
of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife
of the Oceanian wind, O separate rose
from the long stem of the trampled bush
that the depths, converted into archipelago,
O natural star, green diadem,
alone in your lonesome dynasty,
still unattainable, elusive, desolate
like one drop, like one grape, like the sea.


by Pablo Neruda | |

The White Mans Burden

 Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth, a shout muffled by huge autumns, by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood--- and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent


by Pablo Neruda | |

Ode To The Lemon

 From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its plantarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield! The coasts, the markets glowed with light, with unrefined gold; we opened two halves of a miracle, congealed acid trickled from the hemispheres of a star, the most intense liqueur of nature, unique, vivid, concentrated, born of the cool, fresh lemon, of its fragrant house, its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives sliced a small cathedral in the lemon, the concealed apse, opened, revealed acid stained glass, drops oozed topaz, altars, cool architecture.
So, when you hold the hemisphere of a cut lemon above your plate, you spill a universe of gold, a yellow goblet of miracles, a fragrant nipple of the earth's breast, a ray of light that was made fruit, the minute fire of a planet.