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 Sonnet 17
I do not love you as if you were
salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of
carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you
as certain dark things are to be loved,
in
secret, between the shadow and the
soul.
I love you as the plant that never
blooms
but carries in itself the light of
hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a
certain solid fragrance,
risen from the
earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love
you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without
complexities or pride;
so I love you because
I know no other way
than this: where I
does not exist, nor you,
so close that your
hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that
your eyes close as I fall
asleep.
Pablo
Neruda
Pablo
Neruda's Poems
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