Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,

you look like a world, lying in surrender.

My dark peasant’s body digs 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 in 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 moss, 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.

(from twenty love poems and a song of despair – an anthology of poems by Pablo Neruda, published in 1924 – Neruda’s second published work)

“I really don’t understand what it’s all about—why this book, a book of love-sadness, of love-pain, continues to be read by so many people, by so many young people. Truly, I do not understand it. Perhaps this book represents the youthful posing of many enigmas; perhaps it represents the answers to those enigmas. It is a mournful book, but its attractiveness has not worn off.” – Pablo Neruda