Explore "This Broken Bell" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
This broken bell still wants to sing: the metal now is green, the color of woods, this bell, color of water in stone pools in the forest, color of day in the leaves.
The bronze cracked and green, the bell with its mouth open to the ground and sleeping was entangled in bindweed, and the hard golden color of the bronze turned the color of a frog: it was the hands of water, the dampness of the coast, dealt green to the metal and tenderness to the bell.
This broken bell miserable in the rude thicket of my wild garden, green bell, wounded, its scars immersed in the grass: it calls to no one anymore, no one gathers around its green goblet except one butterfly that flutters over the fallen metal and flies off, escaping on yellow wings.