XXI
If only love would spread its savor through me,
not to go one moment more without spring!
What I sold into sorrow was only my hands,
dearest: now leave me with your kisses.
Shut out the mouth's light with your fragrance;
close all the doors with your hair.
Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in
my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your
hands, for your caresses like the wheat, the flashing rapture of shadow and
energy.
O my dearest, nothing but shadow there where you walk with
me through your dream: you tell me when the light returns.
Pablo Neruda
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