Love
by Pablo Neruda
 

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers

I ache from the perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;

how did your lips feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,

the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;

I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume,

I am bound to my vague memory of you.

I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me,

you will do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love,

yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me;

because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires:

shooting stars, falling objects.

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