John Crowe Ransom
John Crowe Ransom Poems
|41.||Judith Of Bethulia||3/31/2010|
|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 ...
Conrad In Twilight
Conrad, Conrad, aren't you old
To sit so late in your mouldy garden?
And I think Conrad knows it well,
Nursing his knees, too rheumy and cold
To warm the wraith of a Forest of Arden.
Neuralgia in the back of his neck,
His lungs filling with such miasma,
His feet dipping in leafage and muck: