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|
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 friar had said his paternosters duly
And scourged his limbs, and afterwards would have slept;
But with much riddling his head became unruly,
He arose, from the quiet monastery he crept.
Dawn lightened the place where the battle had been won.
The people were dead -- it is easy he thought to die --
These dead remained, but the living were all gone,
Gone with the wailing trumps of victory.