little by little

We've experienced some bright, cold days in Oxford recently. But this morning dawned rainy and grey with a touch of melancholy.

[holywell street.]

Which, naturally, makes me think of Pablo Neruda poems. Because what better to recite to yourself on a gloomy January morning? 

If you Forget Me 

I want you to know 

one thing. 

You know how this is: 

if I look 

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window, 

if I touch 

near the fire

the impalpable ash 

or the wrinkled body of the log, 

everything carries me to you, 

as if everything that exists, 

aromas, light, metals, 

were little boats

that sail 

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.  

Well, now, 

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little. 

If suddenly 

you forget me 

do not look for me, 

for I shall already have forgotten you. 

If you think it long and mad, 

the wind of banners that passes through my life, 

and you decide 

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots, 

remember

that on that day, 

at that hour, 

I shall lift my arms 

and my roots will set off to seek another land. 

But

if each day, 

each hour, 

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness, 

if each day a flower 

climbs up to your lips to seek me, 

ah my love, ah my own, 

in me all that fire is repeated, 

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, 

my love feeds on your love, beloved, 

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.