Sonnet XVII (Sonnet 17) - Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were the 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.

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I was compelled to put this on here. I watch Patch Adams the movie quite some time ago and foudn this poem quite beautiful. Searched for who had written it, and lo and behold, the great Shakespeare who lived quite closer to my own time, Pablo Neruda. The man is genius, as is his poetry.