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                Take bread away from me, if you wish,
                take air away, but
                do not take from me your laughter.

                Do not take away the rose,
                the lance flower that you pluck,
                the water that suddenly
                bursts forth in joy,
                the sudden wave
                of silver born in you.

                My struggle is harsh and I come back
                with eyes tired
                at times from having seen
                the unchanging earth,
                but when your laughter enters
                it rises to the sky seeking me
                and it opens for me all
                the doors of life.

                My love, in the darkest
                hour your laughter
                opens, and if suddenly
                you see my blood staining
                the stones of the street,
                laugh, because your laughter
                will be for my hands
                like a fresh sword.

                Next to the sea in the autumn,
                your laughter must raise
                its foamy cascade,
                and in the spring, love,
                I want your laughter like
                the flower I was waiting for,
                the blue flower, the rose
                of my echoing country.

                Laugh at the night,
                at the day, at the moon,
                laugh at the twisted
                streets of the island,
                laugh at this clumsy
                boy who loves you,
                but when I open
                my eyes and close them,
                when my steps go,
                when my steps return,
                deny me bread, air,
                light, spring,
                but never your laughter
                for I would die.

                Pablo Neruda