By Pablo Neruda
Xvii (I Do Not Love You...)
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.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
Poetry by Editorial Team
Read 189 times
Written on 2018-10-01 at 10:55
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