Ode to the Rose,
Pablo Neruda
to the rose,
to this rose,
to the only one,
to this gallant, open,
pink adult,
to its velvet depth,
to the bursting of her red breast.
They believed,
Yeah,
they believed
that she gave up on you,
I don't sing to you
that you are not mine, rose,
but alien,
that I
I go around the world
without looking at you,
concerned
only
of man
and his conflict.
It's not true, pink.
love you.
Teen,
I preferred the spikes,
the grenades,
I preferred rough flowers
scrub, wild
lilies.
for elegant
I despised your upright
fullness,
the morning satin of your bodice,
the indolent insolence
of your agony, when
you drop a petal
and with the others
you continue to burn
until all the treasure was scattered.
You belong to Me,
pink,
like everything
what is on earth
and can't
the poet
close the eyes
to your glass on fire,
close my heart to your fragrance.
Rose, you are tough:
I've seen
snow fall in my garden:
the ice
paralyzed life,
the big trees
they broke their branches,
only,
rosebush,
survivor,
stubborn,
naked, there in the cold
earthlike,
relative
of the farmer, of the mud,
of the frost,
and later on
punctual, birth
of a rose,
the growth of a flare.
worker rose,
you work
your perfume,
you elaborate
your scarlet burst or your whiteness,
all the winter
you search the earth,
you dig
minerals,
mining,
you put out fire
From the bottom
and then
you open up,
splendor of light, lip of fire,
beauty lamp.
To me
you belong to Me,
me and everyone
even though
barely
let's have
time to look at you,
life for
dedicate to your flames
the cares,
pink,
you are ours
you come
of time consumed
and you advance,
you leave the gardens
to the future.
you walk
the way
of man,
unshakable and victorious you are
a little
flag cocoon.
Under your resistant and delicate
fragrance pavilion
the grave earth defeated death
and victory was your flare.
New Elemental Odes (1954)
Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
