Sonnet XVIII

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

~ Pablo Neruda