Explore "The Young Monarch" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
As a continuation of what has been read and preceding from the following page, I must direct my star to amorous territory.
Fatherland limited by two long warm arms, of long parallel passion, and a place of diamonds defended by system and mathematical warlike science. Yes, I want to marry the most beautiful woman in Mandalay, I want to entrust my earthly wrapping to that noise of the woman cooking, to that fluttering of skirt and bare foot that move and mix like wind and leaves.
A lovely girl with little feet and a big cigar, amber flowers in her pure and cylindrical hair, and living dangerously like a heavy-headed lily of thick consistency.
And my wife at my shore, at the side of my murmur so far-fetched, my Burmese wife, daughter of the king.
Her coiled black hair I then kiss, and her sweet and perpetual foot; and night already near, its mill unchained, I listen to my tiger and I weep for my absent one.