My arms were always quiet, Close and never freed, I was furled like a banner, Enfolded like a seed. I thought, when Love shall strike me, Each arm will start and spring, Unloosen like a petal, And open like a wing. Oh Love -- my arms are lifted, But not to sway and toss, They strain out wide and wounded Like arms upon a cross. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETRY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RECOMPENSE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |