Explore "Climates" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In autumn, high arrows, renewed oblivion, fall from the poplar: feet plunge into the pure blanket: the aroused leaves' coldness is a dense fountain of gold, a spiny splendor sets the dry candelabras of bristling stature near the sky, and the yellow jaguar scents a live droplet between its claws.