Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example: 'The night is shattered
and they shiver, blue, those stars in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I have not loved her huge, still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think I do not have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her?
The night is fractured and she is not with me.
This is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
My soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: She is not with me.
The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another's kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Since on nights like these I held her in my arms,
My soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer
and these are the last verses that I write for her.
- Pablo Neruda
