Pablo Neruda

Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.

So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.