The night has a thousand eyes,
\nAnd the day but one;
\nYet the light of the bright world dies
\nWith the dying sun.<\/p>\n
The mind has a thousand eyes,
\nAnd the heart but one:
\nYet the light of a whole life dies
\nWhen love is done.
\n
\nFrancis Bourdillon, 1890<\/p>\n
Write, for example,’The night is shattered
\nand the blue stars shiver in the distance.’<\/p>\n
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.<\/p>\n
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
\nI loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.<\/p>\n
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
\nI kissed her again and again under the endless sky.<\/p>\n
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
\nHow could one not have loved her great still eyes.<\/p>\n
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
\nTo think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.<\/p>\n
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
\nAnd the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.<\/p>\n
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
\nThe night is shattered and she is not with me.<\/p>\n
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
\nMy soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.<\/p>\n
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
\nMy heart looks for her, and she is not with me.<\/p>\n
The same night whitening the same trees.
\nWe, of that time, are no longer the same.<\/p>\n
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
\nMy voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.<\/p>\n
Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
\nHer voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.<\/p>\n
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
\nLove is so short, forgetting is so long.<\/p>\n
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
\nmy sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.<\/p>\n
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
\nand these the last verses that I write for her.
\n
\nPablo Neruda<\/p>\n