"Heights of Macchu Picchu: I," Pablo Neruda

From air to air, like an empty net,
I went wandering between the streets and the atmosphere, arriving and saying goodbye
leaving behind in autumn's advent the coin extended
from the leaves, and between Spring and the wheat,
that which the greatest love, as within a falling glove,
hands over to us like a large moon.

I leaned my head into the deepest waves,
I sank through the sulfuric peace,
and, like a blind man, returned to the jasmine
of the exhausted human springtime.

From The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems. Translated by Mark Eisner with John Felstiner and Stephen Kessler. (You can also get the book directly from City Lights.)

2004 is the centennial of Neruda's birth. In his Nobel acceptance speech, he said:

I did not learn from books any recipe for writing a poem, and I, in my turn, will avoid giving any advice on mode or style which might give the new poets even a drop of supposed insight. When I am recounting in this speech something about past events, when reliving on this occasion a never-forgotten occurrence, in this place which is so different from what that was, it is because in the course of my life I have always found somewhere the necessary support, the formula which had been waiting for me not in order to be petrified in my words but in order to explain me to myself.

Read his poems "Love" and "Nothing But Death" (the latter translated by Robert Bly). See also the Elementary Odes and a batch of translations by Jodey Bateman.