True Love

　　by Robert Penn Warren

　　 In silence the heart raves. It utters words

　　 Meaningless， that never had

　　 A meaning. I was ten， skinny， red-headed，

　　 Freckled. In a big black Buick，

　　 Driven by a big grown boy， with a necktie， she sat

　　 In front of the drugstore， sipping something

　　 Through a straw. There is nothing like

　　 Beauty. It stops your heart. It

　　 Thickens your blood. It stops your breath. It

　　 Makes you feel dirty. You need a hot bath.

　　 I leaned against a telephone pole， and watched.

　　 I thought I would die if she saw me.

　　 How could I exist in the same world with that brightness？

　　 Two years later she smiled at me. She

　　 Named my name. I thought I would wake up dead.

　　 Her grown brothers walked with the bent-knee

　　 Swagger of horsemen. They were slick-faced.

　　 Told jokes in the barbershop. Did no work.

　　 Their father was what is called a drunkard.

　　 Whatever he was he stayed on the third floor

　　 Of the big white farmhouse under the maples for twenty-five years.

　　 He never came down. They brought everything up to him.

　　 I did not know what a mortgage was.

　　 His wife was a good， Christian woman， and prayed.

　　 When the daughter got married， the old man came down wearing

　　 An old tail coat， the pleated shirt yellowing.

　　 The sons propped him. I saw the wedding. There were

　　 Engraved invitations， it was so fashionable. I thought

　　 I would cry. I lay in bed that night

　　 And wondered if she would cry when something was done to her.

　　 The mortgage was foreclosed. That last word was whispered.

　　 She never came back. The family

　　 Sort of drifted off. Nobody wears shiny boots like that now.

　　 But I know she is beautiful forever， and lives

　　 In a beautiful house， far away.

　　 She called my name once. I didn't even know she knew it.

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