Thursday, December 3, 2009

Queen by Pablo Neruda

I have named you queen.

There are taller ones than you, taller.

There are purer ones than you, purer.

There are lovelier than you, lovelier.

But you are the queen.

When you go through the streets

no one recognizes you.

No one sees your crystal crown,

no one looks at the carpet of red gold

that you tread as you pass, the nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear

all the rivers sound in my body,

bells shake the sky,

and a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,

only you and I, my love, listen to it.


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