Gwendolyn Brooks – The Poet Laureate

To Be In Love

  • Gwendolyn Brooks – The Poet Laureate

    To be in love
    Is to touch with a lighter hand.
    In yourself you stretch, you are well.
    You look at things
    Through his eyes.
    A cardinal is red.
    A sky is blue.
    Suddenly you know he knows too.
    He is not there but
    You know you are tasting together
    The winter, or a light spring weather.
    His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
    Too much to bear.
    You cannot look in his eyes
    Because your pulse must not say
    What must not be said.
    When he
    Shuts a door-
    Is not there_
    Your arms are water.
    And you are free
    With a ghastly freedom.
    You are the beautiful half
    Of a golden hurt.
    You remember and covet his mouth
    To touch, to whisper on.
    Oh when to declare
    Is certain Death!
    Oh when to apprize
    Is to mesmerize,
    To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
    Into the commonest ash.

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