Love 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;
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.

by Pablo Neruda

Comments (5)

Those eyes to gain the world. Nice work.
This lingering love will not depart, I cannot banish from my heart.............................. Good journey indeed!
A very fine poem of lamentation.
This poem is a lamentable drivel.
If this poem is by Anne Bronte, why does it have the name of Alexandrina Zenobia at the bottom? Is that the name of the person who submitted it to Poem Hunter? Even if it is, it should not appear there!