The Light s You
The light s you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.
A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you e out again
so that a blue and palled people
your newly born, takes nourishment.
Oh magnifit and fed and magic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through blad gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so ri life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.
Pablo Neruda
(ò﹏ò)
抱歉，章节内容不支持该浏览器显示～
【为了使用完整的阅读功能】
请考虑使用〔Chrome 谷歌浏览器〕、〔Safari 苹果浏览器〕或者〔Edge 微软浏览器〕等原生浏览器阅读！
谢谢!!!