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Sonnet XVII 

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 dark things are to be loved
in secret, between shadow and 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 complexity 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.



Books by Pablo Neruda

 
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