Vintažinis

Sonnet VXII

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 a 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 of 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

Vakaras pro atviras terasos duris, lengvai šiūruojant baltom užuolaidom, ramiai įeidinėja į kambarį, palikdamas už savęs grojančius svirplius, kažkur tolumoj pasileidžia bėgti lengvas rūkas, sujudindamas arbatos puodelį, kuriame teliūskavo pasaka. Gal netyčia užklysta kamanė... 

So close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.