XXXVII (O love, O crazy sunbeam)

Here’s a poem by one of my favourite poets, Pablo Neruda.

O love, O crazy sunbeam and purple premonition,

you come to me and climb your cool stairway,

the castle that time has crowned with fog,

pale walls of a closed heart.

No one else will know that only a delicacy could do it,

building its crystals as strong as a city;

that the blood poured open its sad tunnels, but its strength

never did overpower the winter. Love,

that is why your mouth, your skin, your light, your sadnesses

were all the patrimony of life, the blessed

gift of the rain, of the natural world

that holds and lifts the pregnant seeds,

the secret storm of the wine in the cellars,

the flare of the corn in the soil.

-Pablo Neruda

~*~