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Sonnet 17 : Love
by Pablo Neruda
(Cien Sonetus de Amor, 1960)

(translated by Stephen Topscott)

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.