John Crowe Ransom
John Crowe Ransom Poems
|42.||An American Addresses Philomela||3/31/2010|
|43.||Emily Hardcastle, Spinster||3/31/2010|
|44.||Conrad In Twilight||1/3/2003|
|48.||Prelude To An Evening||1/3/2003|
|54.||Bells For John Whiteside's Daughter||1/3/2003|
Comments about John Crowe Ransom
Twirling your blue skirts, travelling the sward
Under the towers of your seminary,
Go listen to your teachers old and contrary
Without believing a word.
Tie the white fillets then about your hair
And think no more of what will come to pass
Than bluebirds that go walking on the grass
And chattering on the air.
Practice your beauty, blue girls, before it fail;
And I will cry with my loud lips and publish
Beauty which all our power shall never establish,
It is so frail.
For I could tell you a story which is true;
I know a woman with ...
The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction,
A green bough from Virginia's aged tree,
And none of the county kin like the transaction,
Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me.
A boy not beautiful, nor good, nor clever,
A black cloud full of storms too hot for keeping,
A sword beneath his mother's heart—yet never
Woman bewept her babe as this is weeping.