Monday, November 06, 2006


Ido not love you as if you were brine-rose, topaz,
or barbed carnations thrown off by the fire.
I love you as certain hidden things are loved,
secretly, between night and soul.
I love you like the flower-less plant
carrying inside itself the light of those flowers,
and, graced by your love, a fierce perfume
risen from earth, is alive, concealed in my flesh.
I love you without knowing how, whence, when.
I love you truly, without doubts, without pride,
I love you so, and know, no other way to love,
none but this mode of neither You nor I,
so close that your hand over my chest is my hand,
so close they are your eyes I shut when I sleep.

Pablo Neruda


Blogger Lisa :-] said...


November 06, 2006 10:48 PM  
Blogger Jod{i} said...

Big Sigh......

Cynthia, can I do you up a header?
oooo and I have to change your link title, ...I have been reading for how long now and I look at it, and jsut never connected the two different names, lol
Must be the blond muddling me! THats my story and I am sticking to it,,,hee hee

November 07, 2006 6:33 AM  
Blogger Paul said...

Every time it looks like the sonnet is dead, someone re-invents it. I like what Neruda has done with the form: freeing it from rhyme scheme, but retaining structural features of both the Italian and the English.

November 07, 2006 6:59 AM  
Blogger eizmarcos said...

if you like that poem check this out:


November 07, 2006 6:05 PM  

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