Dreams.

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