<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=125098" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poem XIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have gone marking the atlas of your body<br>with crosses of fire. <br>My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. <br>In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stories to tell you on the shore of evening, <br>sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad. <br>A swan, a tree, something far away and happy. <br>The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I who lived in a harbor from which I loved you. <br>The solitude crossed with dream and with silence. <br>Penned up between the sea and sadness. <br>Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Between the lips and the voice something goes dying. <br>Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.<br>The way nets cannot hold water. <br>My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling. <br>Even so, something sings in these fugitive words. <br>Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth. <br>Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy. <br>Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman. <br>My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once? <br>When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit <br>my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Pablo+Neruda">Pablo Neruda</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=125098" data-title="Poem XIII de Pablo Neruda" data-description="I have gone marking the atlas of your body/with crosses of fire. /My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. /In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst. /Stories to tell you on the shore of evening, /sad and gentle doll, so that you should ..."></div> </div> </div>

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