i translated neruda's poema 20. hasn't everybody?

tonight i write the saddest lines.

i write: the stars throw blue across the astral depths,
and the wind of night stirs heaven and sings.

tonight i write the saddest lines.
i wanted her, at times she wanted me.

on these nights i held her,
kissed her ceaselessly under ceaseless sky.

she loved me, at times i loved her back.
who wouldn't love her fixed gaze?

tonight i write the saddest lines.
about how she isn't mine, about losing her.

i listen to abyssal night, more boundless without her
and this verse on my soul is as dew on morning fields.

who cares that she slipped through my strongest love?
the sky is starred and she isn't here.

that is all. in the distance someone sings. in the distance.
my soul never settles without her here.

i summon her with my eyes
my heart searches, but she does not appear

as night has blanked out all the trees,
so time has changed us both

of course i do not love her! but God i loved her then
my voice rode drifting air to touch her ear

he possesses her! as once my kisses possesed:
her voice. the curve of her hip. her infinite eyes.

of course i do not love her! or maybe i do
love is as short as the fog of time is deep

because on these nights she was in my arms
and my soul never settles without her here.

she has inflicted her last wound!
for these are the last lines i write of her.