Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: <br />I wavered through the streets, among <br />Objects: <br />Nothing mattered or had a name: <br />The world was made of air, which waited. <br /> <br />I knew rooms full of ashes, <br />Tunnels where the moon lived, <br />Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost', <br />Questions that insisted in the sand. <br /> <br />Everything was empty, dead, mute, <br />Fallen abandoned, and decayed: <br />Inconceivably alien, it all <br /> <br />Belonged to someone else - to no one: <br />Till your beauty and your poverty <br />Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxv/
