Explore "The Stones and the Birds" by Pablo Neruda on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Birds of the South Sea, resting, it is the hour of great solitude, the hour of stone.
I knew every nest, the unsociable lodging of the nomadic,
I loved your Antarctic flight, the somber accuracy of the remote birds.
Now, rest in the amphitheater of the islands: no longer can I talk with you, there are no letters, there is no telegraph between poet and bird: there is secret music, only hidden wings, plumage and power.
How much distance and greed awaited the cruel gold eyes of the silver fugitive!
With closed wings a meteor descended, exploding in your sea-foam light, and the flight again ascended, climbing to the heights with a bloody fish.
From the Chilean Archipelago, there, where rain established its home, great black wings came cutting the sky, and dominating the territories and distances of winter, here on the continent of solitary stone, love, manure, life, all that is left, adventurous birds of stone, sea and impossible sky.