Already, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream.
Love, grief, labour, must sleep now.
Night revolves on invisible wheels
and joined to me you are pure as sleeping amber.
 
No one else will sleep with my dream, love.
You will go we will go joined by the waters of time.
No other one will travel the shadows with me,
only you, eternal nature, eternal sun, eternal moon.
 
Already your hands have opened their delicate fists
and let fall, without direction, their gentle signs,
you eyes enclosing themselves like two grey wings,
 
while I follow the waters you bring that take me onwards:
night, Earth, winds weave their fate, and already,
not only am I not without you, I alone am your dream.

Pablo Neruda, 1959 Translation by A. S. Kline

It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they were twisted nets.

Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.

Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,

something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.

Pablo Neruda, 1959 Translation by A. S. Kline

And this word, this paper written
by the thousand hands of a single hand
does not rest in you, does not serve for dreams.
It falls to the earth: there it continues.
 
No matter that light or praise
were spilled and rose from the glass
if they were a tenacious tremor of wine,
if your mouth was dyed amaranthine.
 
It no longer needs the lagging syllable
that which the reef brings and withdraws
from my memories, the incensed spume,
 
It no longer needs a single thing but to write your name.
And even though my sombre love silences it
much later the spring will speak it.

Pablo Neruda, 1959 Translation by A. S. Kline

At the centre of the Earth I’ll split apart
the emeralds to catch a sight of you
and you’ll be copying down the ears of wheat
like a message-taking plume of water.
 
What a world! What depths of parsley!
What a sailboat sailing in the sweetness!
And you perhaps and I perhaps of topaz!
There’ll be no more dissonance in the bells.
 
There’ll be no more than the free air,
the apples taken by the wind,
the juicy volume in among the branches,
 
and there where the carnations breathe
we will start a garment to last out
the eternity of a victorious kiss.

Pablo Neruda, 1959 Translation by A. S. Kline