Pablo Neruda

This has always been one of my favorite Neruda love poems. II think it's elegant and beautiful, yet strangely mournful. It is in a collection called Cien Sonetos de Amor. It is particularly beautiful in spanish and a bit is "lost in translation," as the say.

SONETO XXV

ANTES DE AMARTE, AMOR, NADA ERA MÍO:
VACILÉ POR LAS CALLES Y LAS COSAS:
NADA CONTABA NI TENÍA NOMBRE:
EL MUNDO ERA DEL AIRE QUE ESPERABA.

YO CONOCÍ SALONES CENICIENTOS,
TÚNELES HABITADOS POR LA LUNA,
HANGARES CRUELES QUE SE DESPEDÍAN,
PREGUNTAS QUE INSISTÍAN EN LA ARENA.

TODO ESTABA VACÍO, MUERTO Y MUDO,
CAÍDO, ABANDONADO Y DECAÍDO,
TODO ERA INALIENABLEMENTE AJENO,

TODO ERA DE LOS OTROS Y DE NADIE,
HASTA QUE TU BELLEZA Y TU POBREZA
LLENARON EL OTOÑO DE REGALOS.

My translation:

SONNET XXV

BEFORE LOVING YOU, LOVE, NOTHING WAS MINE:
I VACILATED THROUGH THE STREETS AND THINGS:
NOTHING COUNTED OR HAD A NAME:
THE WORLD WAS OF AN EXPECTANT AIR

I KNEW ASHEN HALLS,
TUNNELS INHABITED BY THE MOON,
CRUEL HANGARS THAT WERE BIDDING FAREWELL,
QUESTIONS THAT WERE INSISTING ON THE SAND.

EVERYTHING WAS EMPTY, DEAD AND MUTE,
FALLEN, ABANDONED AND DECAYED,
EVERYTHING WAS INALIENABLY OTHER.

EVERYTHING BELONGED TO OTHERS AND TO NO ONE
UNTIL YOUR BEAUTY AND YOUR POVERTY',
FILLED THE AUTUMN WITH GIFTS.