Pablo Neruda - Sonnet XVII

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
I love you because I know no other way than this
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand
So close that when you close your eyes I fall asleep