Pablo Neruda

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
In secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as a plant that doesn't bloom
and carries hidden within itself the light of those flowers, and thanks to your love,
darkly in my body lives the dense fragrance
that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without complexities or pride:
So I love you, because I know no other way but this,
in which there is I nor you,
So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
So intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.