Explore "Serenade" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On your brow rests the color of the poppies, the mourning of widows finds echo, oh hapless one: when you run behind the railroads, in the fields, the slender worker turns his back on you, from your footprints sweet toads sprout trembling.
The youth without memories greets you, asks you about his forgotten wish, his hands move in your atmosphere like birds, and there is great dampness surrounding him: crossing his incomplete thoughts, wishing to reach something, oh, seeking you, his pale eyes blink in your net like lost instruments that suddenly gleam.
Oh I remember the first day of thirst, the shadow pressed against the jasmines, the deep body in which you took refuge like a drop that also trembles.
But you silence the great trees, and above the moon, far away above, you spy upon the sea like a thief.
Oh, night, my startled soul asks you, you, desperately, about the metal that it needs.