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Translation of Neruda’s text:
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me,
the land I had lost with my childhood and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
-Pablo Neruda