Best Love Poems by Pablo Neruda

15 Best Love Poems by Pablo Neruda in English 

Best Love Poems by Pablo Neruda in English

About Pablo Neruda:

Pablo Neruda was born on July 12th, 1904, in a small frontier town in Southern Chile, the son of a railroad worker. The father was killed in a fall from his train while Neruda was still a boy. He described his childhood in Temuco in an essay called "Childhood and Poetry", printed as a preface to his Collected Poems. His given name was Neftail Beltran, and his pseudonym was taken very young out of admiration for a 19th century Czech writer. 

In 1920, when he was sixteen, Neruda was sent off to Santiago for high school. His poem "Friends on the Road" is written about those days. He was already composing poems, a poetry of high animal spirits and enthusiasm. At nineteen, he published a book called "Twenty Poems of love and One Ode of Desperation" which is still loved all over South America. 

Love Poems by Pablo Neruda:

1. Body of a Woman

Body of a woman, while hills, white thighs, 
You look like a world, lying in surrender. 
My rough peasant's body dugs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth. 
I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me, 
and night swamped me with its crushing invasion. 
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon, 
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling. 
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you. 
Body of skin, of miss, of eager and firm milk. 
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence! 
Oh the roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad! 
Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. 
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road! 
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows 
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache. 

2. The Light Wraps You

The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twilight 
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 fruits fall 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 pallid 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.

3. The Vastness of Pines

Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking, 
slow play of lights, solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, toy doll,
earth-shell, un whom the earth sings!
In you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them
as you desire, and you send it where you will.
Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will free my flock of arrows.

On all sides I see your waist of fog,
and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours 
my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests 
in you with your arms of transparent stone. 

Ah your mysterious voice that love tolls and darkens 
in the resonant and dying evening!
Thus in deep hours I have seen over the fields,
the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind.

4. The Morning is Full

The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.
The clouds travel like white handkerchief of goodbye,
The wind, travelling, waving them in its hands.
The numberless heart of the wind 
beating above our loving silence.
Orchestral and divine, resounding among the tress
like a language full of wars and songs.
Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid
and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds.
Wind that topples her in a wave without spray
and substance without weight and leaning fires.
Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks,
assailed in the door of the summer's wind.

5. So That You Will Hear Me

So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches. 

Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes. 

And I watch my words from a long way off. 
They are more yours than mine. 
They climb on my old suffering like ivy. 

It climbs the same way on damp walls. 
You are to blame for this cruel sport. 
They are fleeing from my dark lair. 
You fill everything, you fill everything. 

Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy, 
and they are more used to my sadness than you are. 
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me. 

The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual. 
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over. 
You listen to other voices in my painful voice. 

Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications. 
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me. 
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish. 

But my words become stained with your love. 
You occupy everything, you occupy everything. 

I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes. 

6. I Remember You As You Were

I remember you as you were in the last autumn. 
You were the grey beret and the still heart. 
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on. 
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul. 

Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace. 
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning. 
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul. 

I feel your eyes travelling, and the autumn is far off:
grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
towards which my deep longings migrated 
and my kisses fell, happy as embers. 

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond! 
Beyond your eyes, father on, the evenings were blazing. 
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul. 

7. Learning Into The Afternoons 

Learning into the afternoons I cast my sadnets
towards your oceanic eyes.
There in the highest blaze my solitude lengtherns and flames.
its arms turning like a drowning man's.
I sent out red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near 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 beats on your marine 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.

8. White Bee

White bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey,
and your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke.
I am the one without hope, the word without echoes,
he who lost everything and he who had everything. 

Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing. 
In my barren land you are the final rose.
Ah you who are silent!

Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters.
Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked.

You have deep eyes in which the night flails. 
Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose.

Your breasts seem like white snails.
A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep on your belly.

Ah you who are silent!
Here is the solitude from which you are absent. 
It is raining. The sea wind is hunting strays gulls.

The water walks barefoot in the wet streets. 
From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick.

White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul
You live again in time, slender and silent. 

Ah you who are silent! 

9. Drunk with Pines

Drunk with pines and long kisses, 
like summer I steer the fast sail of the roses, 
bent towards the death of the thin day, 
stuck into my solid marine madness. 

Pale and lashed to my ravenous water, 
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate, 
still dressed in grey and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray. 

Hardened by passions, I go mounted on my one wave, 
lunar, solar, burning and cold, all at once, 
becalmed in the throat of the fortunate isles
that are white and sweet as cool hips. 

In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles 
charged to insanity with electric currents, 
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practising on me. 

Upstream, in the midst of the outer waves, 
your parallel body yields to my arms
like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul, 
quick and slow, in the energy under the sky. 

10. We Have Lost Even

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 between my hands. 

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 is always turned to at twilight
and my cape rolled like a hurt dog at my feet. 

Always, always you recede through the evenings
towards where the twilight goes erasing statues. 

11. Almost Out Of The Sky

Almost out of the sky, half of the moon
anchors between two mountains. 
Turning, wandering night, the digger of eyes. 
Let's see how many stars are smashed in the pool. 

It makes a cross of mourning between my eyes, and runs away. 
Forge of blue metals, nights of stilled combats, 
my heart revolves like a crazy wheel. 
Girl who have come from so far, been brought from so far, 
sometimes your glance flashes out under the sky. 
Rumbling, storm, cyclone of fury, 
you cross above my heart without stopping. 
Wind from the tombs carries off, wrecks, scatters your sleepy root. 

The big trees on the other side of her, uprooted. 
But you, cloudless girl, question of smoke, corn tassel. 
You were what the wind was making with illuminated leaves. 
Behind the nocturnal mountains, while lily of conflagration, 
ah, I can say nothing! You were made of everything. 

Longing that sliced my breast into pieces, 
it is time to take another road, on which she does not smile. 
Storm that buried the bells, muddy swirl of torments, 
why touch her now, why make her sad. 

Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything, 
without anguish death, winter waiting along it
with their eyes open through the dew. 

12. Your Breast Is Enough

Your breast is enough for my heart, 
and my wings for your freedom. 
What was sleeping above your soul will rise
out of my mouth to heaven. 

In you is the illusion of each day. 
You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. 
You undermine the horizon with your absence. 
Eternally in flight like the wave. 

I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and like the masts. 
Like them you are tall and taciturn, 
and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage. 

You gather things to you like an old road. 
You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices. 
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated
that had been sleeping in your soul. 

13. I Have Gone Marketing

I have gone marketing the atlas of your body
with crosses of fire. 
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. 
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst. 

Stories to tell you on the shore of evening, 
Sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad. 
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy. 
The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season. 

I who lived in a harbour from which I loved you. 
The solitude crossed with dream and with silence. 
Penned up between the sea and sadness. 
Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers. 

Between the lips and the voice something goes dying. 
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion. 
The way nets cannot hold water. 
My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling. 
Even so, something sings in these fugitive words. 
Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth. 
Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy. 

Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman. 
My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once? 
When I have reached the most awesome and the coolest summit
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower. 

14. Every Day You Play

Every day you play with the light of the universe. 
Subtle visitors, you arrive in the flower and the water. 
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands. 

You are like nobody since I love you. 
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. 
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the South? 
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. 

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. 
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. 
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. 
The rain takes off her clothes. 

The birds go by, fleeing. 
The wind. The wind. 
I can contend only against the power of men. 
The storm whirls dark leaves 
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. 

You are here. Oh, you do not run away. 
You will answer me to the last cry. 
Cling to me as though you were frightened. 
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes. 

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, 
and even your breasts smell of it. 

While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. 

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me. 
My savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. 
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, 
and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans. 

My words rained over you, stroking you. 
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. 
I go so far as to think that you own the universe. 
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, 
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. 
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. 

15. I Like For You To Be Still

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were 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 were 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 were absent, 
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died. 
One word then, one smile, is enough. 
And I am happy, happy that it's not true

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