September 9, 2004
Sonnet 117 by Pablo Neruda
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 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.
Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain 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.
Posted by patsilog on September 9, 2004 at 12:05 AM as a stickied post | say something!


