Sonnet 5
         
      I did not hold your night, or your air, or the dawn:
      only the earth, the truth of the fruit in clusters,
      the apples that swell as they drink the sweet water,
      the clay and the resins of your sweet-smelling land.

      From Quinchamali where your eyes began
      to the Frontera where your feet were made for me,
      you are my dark familiar clay:
      holding your hips, I hold the wheat in its fields again.

      Woman from Arauco, maybe you didn't know
      how before I loved you I forgot your kisses.
      But my heart went on, remembering your mouth -- and I went on

      and on through the streets like a man wounded,
      until I understood, Love: I had found
      my place, a land of kisses and volcanoes.
       

                          ~Pablo Neruda~