1 min read
Слушать(AI)Love Were Going Home Now
Love, we're going home now,
Where the vines clamber over the trellis:
Even before you, the summer will arrive,
On its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom.
Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world:
Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey:
Ceylon, green dove: and the
Tse with its
Old patience, dividing the day from the night.
And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling
Like two blind birds to their wall,
To their nest in a distant spring:
Because love cannot always fly without resting,
Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea:
Our kisses head back home where they belong.
Pablo Neruda
Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto (12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973), better known by his pen name and, later, legal name Pablo Neruda (/nə
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
We Are Many
Of the many men whom I am, whom we are, I cannot settle on a single one They are lost to me under the cover of They have departed for another city
Ode To The Artichoke
The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills and leaf-crowns, Throbbi...
Sonnet LXVI 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 My heart moves from cold to fire
Любовь и долгий путь рождают книгу
Любовь и долгий путь рождают книгу, И если нет в ней стран и поцелуев, Нет человека с полными руками