By 1945, he was awarded with the Chile's national literature prize.

In 1917,he receibed the Nobel Prize for literature.

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

Toward heaven still,

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it's like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep.

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

Under the windings of the sea

They lying long shall not die windily;

Twisting on racks when sinews give way,

Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;

Faith in their hands shall snap in two,

And the unicorn evils run them through;

Split all ends up they shan't crack;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

No more may gulls cry at their ears

Or waves break loud on the seashores;

Where blew a flower may a flower no more

Lift its head to the blows of the rain;

Though they be mad and dead as nails,

Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;

Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,

And death shall have no dominion.

Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)

It may be Prester John’s balloon              

Or an old battered lantern hung aloft     

To light poor travellers to their distress."

  She then: "How you digress!"  

And I then: "Some one frames upon the keys     

That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain

The night and moonshine; music which we seize              

To body forth our own vacuity."

  She then: "Does this refer to me?"       

  "Oh no, it is I who am inane."  

"You, madam, are the eternal humorist,

The eternal enemy of the absolute,        

Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist!

With your aid indifferent and imperious

At a stroke our mad poetics to confute—"          

  And—"Are we then so serious?"

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore...

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over...

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

In her writing we could find deep philosophical thoughts related with loneliness, dead, love and live questioning.

this gloomy mania for living
this recondite mood of living
Alejandra drags you, don't deny it.

today you looked in the mirror
and it was sad you were alone
the light roared the air sang
but your loved one did not return

you will send messages you will smile
you will shake your hands so it will come back
your loved so loved

you hear the insane siren that stole it
the ship with beards of foam
where the laughter died
Do you remember the last hug?
oh no worries
laugh in the handkerchief cry out loud
but close the doors of your face
so they don't say later
That woman in love was you

you regret the days
the nights blame you
life hurts so much
desperate where are you going?
desperate nothing more

The cage has become a bird

and it has flown

and my heart is crazy

because it howls at death

and smile behind the wind

to my delusions

What I will do with the fair

What I will do with the fair

The light no longer dances in my smile

nor do the seasons burn doves in my ideas

My hands have been undressed

and they have gone to death

teaches the dead to live

Mister

The air punishes my being

Behind the air there are monsters

who drink my blood

is the disaster

It is the hour of the void not empty

It is the moment to lock the lips

hear the damned scream

contemplate each of my names

drowned in nothing

Mister

Am twenty years old

Also my eyes are twenty years old

and yet they say nothing

Mister

I have consummated my life in an instant

The last innocence broke out

Now it's never or never

or was it just

How do I not commit suicide in front of a mirror

and I disappear to reappear in the sea

where a big ship would wait for me

with the lights on?

How do I not remove my veins

and I make a scale with them

to flee to the other side of the night?

The beginning has given birth to the end

everything will stay the same

the worn smiles

interested interest

stone to stone questions

The gesticulations that imitate love

everything will stay the same

But my arms insist on embracing the world

because they haven't been taught yet

it's already too late

Mister

Throw away the coffins of my blood

I remember my childhood

when i was an old lady

The flowers died in my hands

because the wild dance of joy

broke their hearts

I remember the black sunny mornings

When i was a child

that is to say yesterday

that is to say centuries ago

Mister

The cage has become a bird

and has devoured my hopes

Mister

The cage has become a bird

What I will do with the fair

She doesn't use a lot of rhymes.

She tells a story, her poems are usually long.