In the middle of the night I ask myself
what will happen to Chile?
what will become of my poor, dark country?

From loving this long, thin ship so much,
these stones, these little farms,
the durable rose of the coast
the lives among the foam,
I became one with my country,
I met everyone of its sons
and in me the seasons succeeded one another,
weeping or flowering

I feel that now,
with the dead year of doubt scarcely over,
now that the mistakes that bled us all
are over and we begin to plan again
a better and juster life,
the menace once again appear
and on the walls a rising rancor

Pablo Neruda ( Translated by Alastair Reid )