I could write the saddest poems tonight.

Write, for example, how “The night is full of stars,
Cold and blue they shiver in the distance.”

The wind swings round the sky and sings.

I could write the saddest poems tonight.
How I loved her. How sometimes she loved me.

On nights like this I held her in my arms.
Kissed her endlessly under a boundless sky.

How she loved me. How sometimes I loved her.
How could I not fall for those deep wide eyes?

I could write the saddest poems tonight.
To know I don’t have her. To feel I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
These words condense on my soul like dew on the grass.

What does it matter? In the end I couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars but she isn't here.

That's it. Someone sings. Far away. In the distance.
But my soul cannot rest because now she's gone.

My eyes roam, hoping to bring her closer.
My heart searches but cannot find her any more.

The same night whitens the same trees,
We were one and the same then but not now.

I don’t love her any more, but how I loved her.
My voice charmed the wind to caress her ears.

She surrenders.  To my kisses once to another now 
She surrenders her voice, her light body. Her fathomless eyes.

I don’t love her any more, but right now I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

On nights like this I held her in my arms and now
My soul will not rest because I have lost her.

Though this be the final grief she gives me,
And this the last poem I ever write her.

Translated by Peter Jukes from 'Puedo Escribir' by Pablo Neruda.