XVII (I do not love you...)

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    <strong>XVII (I do not love you...)</strong>

    I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

    or the arrow of ations the fire shoots off.

    I love you as certain dark things are to be ..loved,

    i, b9９lib?ween 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 plexities or pride;

    so I love you because I know no other way

    than<q></q> this: where I does , nor you,

    so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

    so close that your eyes close a<bdi></bdi>s I fall asleep.

    Translated by Stephen Tapscott

    Anonymous Submission

    <strong>Pablo Neruda</strong>

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