Explore "The Masks" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Pity on these centuries and their happy or battered survivors, what we did not do was the fault of no one, steel was missing: we exhausted it on so much useless destruction, but none of this matters in the balance: the years suffered from oozing sores and wars, years grown weak when hope trembled at the bottom of the enemy's bottles.
Very well, we will talk sometime, more than once, with a swallow so that no one can listen:
I am ashamed, we possess the humble decency of widows: truth died and rotted in so many graves: it is best to remember what is going to happen: in this nuptial year there are no defeated ones: let each one of us put on victorious masks.