21 Absorbing Love Poems by Pablo Neruda

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Here are my favorite love poems by Pablo Neruda:

From the “Body of a Woman” to a “Song of Despair,” enjoy Pablo Neruda’s most mesmerizing love poems.

So if you want the best love poems by Pablo Neruda, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get started!

21 Absorbing Love Poems by Pablo Neruda (My Favorites)

Absorbing Love Poems by Pablo Neruda

Dive headfirst into a world of romance and passion with a curation of the most enchanting love poems by the legendary Pablo Neruda!

Feel the sultry allure of the “Body of a Woman”, get lost in the achingly beautiful echoes of the “Song of Despair”.

This collection is a glittering display of some of Neruda’s most cherished masterpieces.

Our selection, carefully chosen, is your treasure trove to uncover the crème de la crème of Pablo Neruda’s love poetry, all collated in one easily accessible spot.

So, why wait?

Let yourself be swept away by the fervor and poetic elegance of one of history’s greatest maestros of love poetry.

Let’s go!

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My #1 Favorite Love Poem by Pablo Neruda

Magical dancing forest fairy.

“Body of a Woman” by Pablo Neruda

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you resemble the world in your stance of surrender.
My wild peasant body undermines you,
and releases the child from the depths of the earth.

I was but a tunnel. Birds fled from me.
And within me, the night made its powerful invasion.
To survive myself, I forged you as a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance arrives, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of avid and firm milk.
Ah, the cups of your breasts! Ah, the eyes of absence!
Ah, the roses of your pubis! Ah, your slow and sad voice!

My woman’s body, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless longing, my uncertain path!
Dark channels where eternal thirst persists,
and fatigue persists, and infinite pain.

Why “Body of a Woman” Is My Favorite Poem

A daydreaming, fantasy princess with lush hair, adorned in a lovely dress, immersed in thoughts of her knight in shining armor, amidst a scenic backdrop of mountains, a castle, blooming flowers, and

I remember first hearing the name Pablo Neruda back when I was in college and the very first poem I read from him was Body of a Woman; making this poem a favorite for this collection among the others.

As we delve deeper into his literary works, I also discovered how each line of this poem was woven with hidden meanings; like secret codes along the body of a woman waiting to be unlocked.

I can say that this poem is one that truly encapsulates the breathtaking beauty of Pablo Neruda’s literary works who is renowned for his masterful use of romanticism and eroticism.

For me, Body of a Woman is like a wave that swept me into the depths of Pablo Neruda’s timeless works.

Selection of Passionate Love Poems by Pablo Neruda

portrait of a woman in the forest

Step into the enchanting world of Pablo Neruda’s Love Poems, where words dance like lovers on a moonlit night, weaving tales of passion, longing, and the irresistible magic of love.

Prepare to be captivated by Neruda’s lyrical genius as he paints vivid portraits of romance, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

“Ah Vastness of Pines” by Pablo Neruda

Ah, vastness of pines, the sound of breaking waves,
a slow play of lights, a solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, my doll,
terrestrial seashell, in you the earth sings!

In you the rivers sing and my soul flees within them,
wherever you desire and wherever you wish.
Mark my path in your arc of hope,
and I will release in delirium my flock of arrows.

Around me, I see your waist of mist,
and your silence haunts my pursued hours,
and it is you with your arms of transparent stone
where my kisses anchor and my moist desire nests.

Ah, your mysterious voice tinged and bent by love
in the resounding and dying sunset!
Thus, in deep hours over the fields I have seen
the stalks bending in the mouth of the wind.

A woman standing in a field of white flowers.

“Almost Out of the Sky” by Pablo Neruda

Almost outside the sky, anchored between two mountains,
lies half of the moon.
Rotating, wandering night, the eye-digger.
Let’s see how many shattered stars in the puddle.

It forms a mourning cross between my brows, it flees.
Forge of blue metals, nights of silent struggles,
my heart spins like a crazy steering wheel.
Girl come from so far, brought from so far,
sometimes her gaze flashes beneath the sky.
Lament, tempest, whirlwind of fury,
cross over my heart, without stopping.
Wind from the tombs, carry, shatter, scatter your drowsy root.

Uproot the mighty trees on the other side of her.
But you, clear girl, question of smoke, ear of grain.
You were the one shaping the wind with illuminated leaves.
Behind the nocturnal mountains, white lily of fire,
ah, I can say nothing! You were made of all things.

Anxiety that pierced my chest with knives,
it’s time to follow a different path, where she does not smile.

Tempest that buried the bells, murky turmoil of storms,
why touch her now, why sadden her?

Oh, follow the path that distances from everything,
where anguish, death, winter are not blocking the way,
with their eyes open amidst the dew.

impressionist oil on canvas painting of a young woman in Victorian times. Concept of loneliness and melancholy.

“Tonight, I can write the saddest lines.” by Pablo Neruda

Tonight, I can write the saddest verses.

Write, for example: ‘The night is starry
and trembles, blue, the distant stars.’

The night wind swirls in the sky and sings.

Tonight, I can write the saddest verses.
I loved her, and at times, she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times beneath the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her intense, steady gaze?

Tonight, I can write the saddest verses.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, even more immense without her.
And the verse falls onto the soul like dew onto the grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her?
The night is starry and she is not with me.

That is all. Someone is singing in the distance. Distantly.
My soul is not content with having lost her.

As if to bring her closer, my gaze searches for her.
My heart searches for her, and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, it’s true, but how I loved her.
My voice sought the wind to touch her ear.

From someone else. It will be from someone else.
As before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body, her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, it’s true, but perhaps I still do.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because on nights like this, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content with having lost her.

Even if this is the last pain she causes me,
and these are the last verses I write for her.

One person, young woman with long, red hair and freckles on her face, vintage style, standing in an outdoor setting, looking into camera,  close up, autumn field, wild flowers, stormy sky, copy speace

“I Have Gone Marking” by Pablo Neruda

I have been marking with crosses of fire
the white atlas of your body.
My mouth was a spider crossing and hiding.
In you, behind you, fearful, thirsty.

Stories to tell you on the shore of twilight,
sad and sweet doll, so you wouldn’t be sad.
A swan, a tree, something distant and joyful.
The time of grapes, ripe and fruitful time.

I, who lived in a port from where I loved you.
Loneliness crossed with dream and silence.
Cornered between the sea and sadness.
Silent, delirious, among two motionless gondoliers.

Between lips and voice, something is dying.
Something with bird’s wings, something of anguish and forgetting.
Just as nets cannot hold water.
My doll, only a few trembling drops remain.
Yet something sings amidst these fleeting words.
Something sings, something rises to my eager mouth.
Oh, to celebrate you with all the words of joy.

To sing, to burn, to flee, like a bell tower in the hands of a madman.
My sad tenderness, what has become of you suddenly?
When I reached the boldest and coldest summit,
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.

A woman with red hair standing in a field of flowers.

“The Song of Despair” by Pablo Neruda

Your memory emerges from the night in which I am.
The river knots its obstinate lament to the sea.

Abandoned like the docks at dawn.
It is the hour to depart, oh abandoned one!

Cold petals rain upon my heart.
Oh bilge of debris, fierce cave of shipwrecks!

In you, wars and flights accumulated.
From you, the birds of song took flight.

You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. Everything in you was shipwrecked!

It was the joyful hour of assault and kiss.
The hour of stupor that burned like a lighthouse.

Anxiety of a pilot, fury of a blind diver,
turbid intoxication of love, everything in you was shipwrecked!

In the childhood of mist, my wounded winged soul.
Lost discoverer, everything in you was shipwrecked!

You embraced pain, clung to desire.
Sadness overcame you, everything in you was shipwrecked!

I pushed back the wall of shadows.
I ventured beyond desire and action.

Oh flesh, my flesh, woman I loved and lost,
to you in this moist hour, I evoke and make a song.

Like a vessel, you harbored infinite tenderness,
and infinite forgetfulness shattered you like a glass.

It was the black, black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms embraced me.

It was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
It was grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.

Ah, woman, I don’t know how you could contain me
in the land of your soul, and in the embrace of your arms!

My desire for you was the most terrible and brief,
the most turbulent and intoxicated, the most tense and avid.

Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
clusters still burn, pecked by birds.

Oh bitten mouth, oh kissed limbs,
oh hungry teeth, oh intertwined bodies.

Oh mad copulation of hope and effort
in which we entwined and despaired.

And tenderness, light as water and flour.
And the word barely beginning on our lips.

That was my destiny, and in it, my longing traveled,
and in it, my longing fell, everything in you was shipwrecked!

Oh bilge of debris, everything fell into you,
what pain you did not squeeze, what waves did not drown you.

From stumble to stumble, you still blazed and sang,
standing like a sailor at the prow of a ship.

You still bloomed in songs, still broke in currents.
Oh bilge of debris, open and bitter well.

Pale blind diver, unfortunate slinger,
lost discoverer, everything in you was shipwrecked!

It is the hour to depart, the harsh and cold hour
that night holds to all schedules.

The noisy belt of the sea encircles the coast.
Cold stars emerge, black birds migrate.

Abandoned like the docks at dawn.
Only the trembling shadow twists in my hands.

Ah, beyond everything. Ah, beyond everything.
It is the hour to depart. Oh, abandoned one.

thinking tangling

“Thinking, Tangling Shadows” by Pablo Neruda

Thinking, entangling shadows in profound solitude.
You are also distant, oh farther than anyone.
Contemplating, releasing birds, dissolving images,
burying lamps.

Belfry of mists, how far, up there!
Drowning sorrows, grinding somber hopes,
silent miller,
night falls upon you, far from the city.

Your presence is foreign, strange to me like an object.
I think, I walk at length, my life before you.
My life before anyone, my rough life.
The cry facing the sea, among the rocks,
running free, madly, in the mist of the sea.
Unrestrained, violent, stretching towards the sky.

You, woman, what were you there, what lightning, what rod
from that immense fan? You were distant as now.
Fire in the forest! It burns in blue crosses.
It burns, burns, flares up, sparkles in trees of light.

It crumbles, crackles. Fire. Fire.
And my soul dances wounded by fiery shavings.
Who calls? What silence filled with echoes?
Hour of nostalgia, hour of joy, hour of solitude,
my hour above all!
Horn through which the wind passes singing.
So much passion of weeping entwined with my body.

Shaking of all roots,
onslaught of all waves!
My soul rolled, joyful, sorrowful, endless.

Thinking, burying lamps in profound solitude.

Who are you, who are you?

a woman lying on a bed

“Your Breast is Enough” by Pablo Neruda

Your chest suffices for my heart,
my wings suffice for your freedom.
From my mouth, what was dormant upon your soul
shall reach the sky.

In you lies the illusion of each day.
You arrive like dew upon the petals.
You undermine the horizon with your absence.
Forever fleeing like a wave.

I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and the mastheads.
Like them, you are tall and taciturn.
And you suddenly sadden, like a journey.

As welcoming as an old path.
You are inhabited by echoes and nostalgic voices.
I wake up, and sometimes birds
that slept in your soul migrate and flee.

a woman with long hair

“I Remember You As You Were” by Pablo Neruda

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the gray beret and the tranquil heart.
In your eyes, the flames of twilight battled.
And the leaves fell into the water of your soul.

Clasped to my arms like a vine’s embrace,
the leaves gathered your voice, slow and serene.
Bonfire of stupor, where my thirst would burn.
Sweet twisted blue hyacinth upon my soul.

I feel your eyes travel, and autumn is distant:
gray beret, bird-like voice, and homebound heart,
where my profound longings would migrate,
and my kisses would descend, joyful like embers.

Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is of light, of smoke, of a tranquil pond!
Beyond your eyes, the twilights would blaze.
Dry autumn leaves would swirl within your soul.

A beautiful girl wearing  maxi dress on the walk

“I Like for You To be Still” by Pablo Neruda

I like it when you’re silent because you’re as if absent,
and from afar you hear me, untouched by my voice.
It’s as if your eyes had flown away,
and as if a kiss had sealed your lips.

Since everything is filled with my soul,
you emerge from things, filled with my soul.
Butterfly of dreams, you resemble my soul,
and you resemble the word melancholy.

I like it when you’re silent and distant.
You seem to be complaining, a lulling butterfly.
And from afar you hear me, but my voice doesn’t reach you:
Let me silence myself with your silence.

Let me also speak to you with your silence,
clear as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, silent and starry.
Your silence is like a star, so distant and unassuming.

Spring fairy princess. Flowers and butterflies portrait of a beautiful blonde woman.

“The Morning is Full” by Pablo Neruda

It is the morning filled with tempest
in the heart of summer.

Like white handkerchiefs bidding farewell, the clouds travel,
the wind shakes them with its traveling hands.

Countless heart of the wind
beating upon our enamored silence.

Buzzing through the trees, orchestral and divine,
like a tongue full of wars and songs.

A woman in an orange dress standing in a field of flowers.

“The Light Wraps You” by Pablo Neruda

In its mortal flame, light envelops you.
Absorbed, pale and sorrowful, thus positioned
against the old propellers of twilight
that whirl around you.

Silent, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of deaths,
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the destroyed day.

From the sun, a cluster falls on your dark dress.
From the night, the great roots
suddenly grow from your soul,
and the hidden things within you return to the outside,
so that a pale and newborn blue people
feeds on you.

Oh, magnificent and fertile and magnetic slave
of the circle that unfolds in black and gold:
upright, it strives and achieves such a vibrant creation
that its flowers wither, and it is filled with sadness.

Woman is laying down in field of yellow flowers, with her eyes closed and head rested on ground. She appears to be enjoying peaceful moment as she lies among colorful blossoms.. Generative AI

“So That You Will Hear Me” by Pablo Neruda

So that you may hear me,
my words
sometimes grow thin
like seagull footprints on the beaches.

A necklace, a drunken jingle
for your hands as soft as grapes.

And I see them, my words, distant.
More than mine, they belong to you.
They climb upon my old pain like ivy.

They climb like that upon the damp walls.
You are to blame for this bloody game.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill it all.

Before you, they populated the solitude you now occupy,
and they are more accustomed than you to my sadness.

Now I want them to say what I want to tell you,
so that you may hear me as I wish you to hear me.

The wind of anguish still tends to carry them away.
Hurricanes of dreams still sometimes knock them down.
You hear other voices in my voice of sorrow.

The weeping of old mouths, the blood of ancient pleas.
Love me, my companion. Do not abandon me. Follow me.
Follow me, my companion, in that wave of anguish.

But my words are being tinged with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy it all.

I am shaping them all into an infinite necklace
for your white hands, as soft as grapes.

impressionist oil on canvas painting of a young woman in Victorian times. Concept of loneliness and melancholy.

“White Bee” by Pablo Neruda

White bee, you buzz intoxicated with honey, in my soul,
and you twist in slow spirals of smoke.

I am the desperate one, the word without echoes,
the one who lost everything, and the one who had it all.

Last anchor, my ultimate anxiety groans within you.
In my desolate land, you are the last rose.

Ah, silent one!

Certify your profound eyes. The night flutters there.
Ah, undress your body like a fearful statue.

You have deep eyes where the night flutters.
Fresh arms of a flower and the embrace of a rose.

Your breasts resemble white seashells.
A shadow butterfly has come to sleep in your belly.

Ah, silent one!

Here is the loneliness from which you are absent.
It rains. The sea wind hunts wandering seagulls.

Barefoot, the water roams through wet streets.
The leaves of that tree lament, like the sick.

White bee, absent, you still buzz in my soul.
You revive in time, slender and silent.

Ah, silent one!

portrait of red haired woman in garden eden surrounded by flowers, generative ai

“Drunk with Pines” by Pablo Neruda

Drunk on turpentine and long kisses,
in the summery haze, I steer the sailboat of roses,
tilted towards the death of the slender day,
anchored in the solid frenzy of the sea.

Pale and bound to my devouring water,
I cross through the sour scent of the uncovered climate,
still dressed in gray and bitter sounds,
with a crest of melancholy abandoned foam.

I go, hardened by passions, mounted on my singular wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, sudden,
asleep in the throat of the fortunate
white and sweet islands like fresh hips.

In the damp night, my dress of kisses trembles,
wildly laden with electric maneuvers,
heroically divided into dreams,
and intoxicating roses practicing upon me.

Upstream, amidst the outer waves,
your parallel body clings to my arms
like a fish infinitely attached to my soul,
swift and slow in the subcelestial energy.

Woman lying down in a bed of autumn leaves, she wearing a white shirt, The leaves are orange, yellow, and brown in color

“We Have Lost Even” by Pablo Neruda

We have lost even this twilight.

No one saw us this evening with our hands joined,
while the blue night fell upon the world.

From my window, I have seen
the celebration of the sunset on the distant hills.

Sometimes, like a coin,
a piece of sun would ignite in my hands.

I remembered you with a soul clenched
by that sadness which you know.

So, where were you?
Among what people?
Saying what words?
Why does all the love come rushing to me
when I feel sad and perceive you far away?

The book that is always picked up at twilight fell,
and like a wounded dog, my cloak rolled at my feet.

Always, always, you move away in the evenings
toward where the twilight runs, erasing statues.

Bridal portraits against a backdrop of blooming roses and ivy

“Every Day You Play” by Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and in the water.
You are more than this little white head that I hold
like a cluster of grapes between my hands each day.

You resemble no one since I love you.
Let me lay you down amidst yellow garlands.
Who writes your name with letters of smoke among the southern stars?
Ah, let me remember how you were then, when you didn’t yet exist.

Suddenly the wind howls and beats against my closed window.
The sky is a net filled with somber fish.
All the winds come here, all of them.
The rain undresses.

The birds fly away in panic.
The wind. The wind.
I can only fight against the strength of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and releases all the boats that were moored to the sky last night.

You are here. Ah, you don’t flee.
You will answer me until the last cry.
Curl up beside me as if you were afraid.
However, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.

Now, even now, little one, you bring me honeysuckles,
and even your breasts are perfumed.
While the sad wind gallops, killing butterflies,
I love you, and my joy bites into your plum-like mouth.

How much it must have hurt you to get used to me,
to my solitary and wild soul, to my name that everyone shuns.
We have seen the morning star burn so many times, kissing our eyes,
and above our heads, the twilights contort into giant fans.

My words rained down on you, caressing you.
I have loved your sunlit mother-of-pearl body for a long time.
I even believe you to be the owner of the universe.
I will bring you joyful flowers from the mountains, copihues,
dark hazelnuts, and wild baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you
what spring does with the cherry trees.

Beautiful young woman with long, red hair and freckles on her face standing in an outdoor setting, summer field, meadow, orange flowers, vintage style, looking into camera, close up shot, copy speace

“Here I Love You” by Pablo Neruda

Here I love you.
In the dark pines, the wind unravels.
The moon phosphoresces over the wandering waters.
Days pass, chasing one another.

The mist unties itself in dancing figures.
A silver seagull descends from the sunset.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Or the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I awaken, and even my soul is damp.
The distant sea sounds, resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.

Here I love you, and in vain does the horizon hide you.
I am still loving you amidst these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses travel on those solemn ships
that sail across the sea to where they do not arrive.
I now see myself forgotten like these old anchors.
The piers grow sadder when evening moors.
My life grows tired, futilely hungry.
I love what I do not have. You are so far away.
My weariness wrestles with the slow twilights.
But the night fills and begins to sing to me.
The moon sets its wheels of dream in motion.
The largest stars gaze at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their wire-like leaves.

a woman in a pink dress

“Girl Lithe and Tawny” by Pablo Neruda

Dark-skinned and agile girl, the sun that ripens fruits,
that forms wheat, that bends seaweed,
created your joyful body, your luminous eyes,
and your mouth that bears the smile of water.

A black and eager sun entwines itself in the strands
of your dark mane when you stretch your arms.
You play with the sun as with a stream
and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

Dark-skinned and agile girl, nothing draws me closer to you.
Everything about you distances me, like midday.
You are the delirious youth of the bee,
the intoxication of the wave, the strength of the ear of wheat.

Yet my somber heart seeks you,
and I love your joyful body, your loose and slender voice.
Dark butterfly, sweet and definitive
like the wheat field and the sun, the poppy and the water.

Generated ai template portrait collage of stunnig gorgeous lady floating under water with gold fish sea princess character

“Leaning into the Afternoons” by Pablo Neruda

Leaning into the evenings, I cast my sad nets
onto your oceanic eyes.

There my solitude stretches and burns in the highest blaze,
its arms swirling like a shipwrecked sailor.

I make crimson signals upon your absent eyes,
which sniff the shore like the sea by a lighthouse.

You only harbor darkness, distant and mine,
and sometimes from your gaze emerges the coast of terror.

Leaning into the evenings, I cast my sad nets
onto that sea that shakes your oceanic eyes.

Nocturnal birds peck at the first stars
that twinkle like my soul when I love you.

Leaning into the evenings, I cast my sad nets
onto that sea that shakes your oceanic eyes.

The night gallops on its somber mare,
scattering blue ears of grain across the field.

a woman lying down with her eyes closed

“In My Sky at Twilight” by Pablo Neruda

In my twilight sky, you are like a drifting cloud,
and your color and form are just as I desire.
You are mine, you are mine, woman with sweet lips,
and my infinite dreams dwell within your life.

The lamp of my soul blushes at your feet,
my bitter wine becomes sweeter on your lips,
oh, reaper of my sunset song,
how deeply my solitary dreams feel you as mine!

You are mine, you are mine, I cry out in the breeze
of the evening, and the wind carries my widowed voice.
Hunter of the depths of my eyes, your theft
stills your nocturnal gaze like water.

In the web of my music, you are captured, my love,
and my music’s webs are as vast as the sky.
My soul is born at the shore of your mourning eyes,
in your mourning eyes, I begin the land of dreams.