I Remember You As You Were Last Autumn
I remember you as you were last autumn.
You were a gray beret and a heart full of ease.
In your eyes, the fires of twilight fought on.
Into the waters of your soul, the leaves fell from the trees.
Clasping my arms like a vine slowly climbing,
the leaves gathered your voice, so slow, and full of ease.
A bonfire of awe where my thirst was burning.
A sweet, blue hyacinth in which my soul was seized.
But now I feel your eyes travel, and autumn seems distant:
your gray beret, bird-voice, your heart like a home
to which my longings once made their migration,
and where my kisses, like happy embers, once shone.
Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is smoky now, like a pond at ease.
Beyond your eyes, the evenings were blazing.
And in your soul spun the leaves of the dry, autumn trees.
Pablo NerudaTranslated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2014