John Crowe Ransom

"Twirling your blue skirts crossing the sward Under the towers of your seminary Go listen to your teachers, old and contrary Without believing a word. Tie the white filets then about your hair And think no more of what will come to pass Than bluebirds that go flying in the air Or chattering on the grass. Practice your beauty, blue girls, ere it fail, And I with my loud lips will publish Beauty that all our powers cannot establish It is so frail. For I could tell you a story which is true; I know a lady with a terrible tongue, Blear eyes fallen from blue, All her perfections tarnished — Yet it is not long Since she was lovelier than any of you."

"God have mercy on the sinner Who must write with no dinner, No gravy and no grub, No pewter and no pub, No belly and no bowels, Only consonants and vowels."

"Here lies a lady of beauty and high degree. Of chills and fever she died, of fever and chills, The delight of her husband, her aunts, an infant of three, And of medicos marveling sweetly on her ills."

"Sweet ladies, long may ye bloom, and toughly I hope ye may thole, But was she not lucky? In flowers and lace and mourning, In love and great honour we bade God rest her soul After six little spaces of chill, and six of burning."

"And a wandering beauty is a blade out of its scabbard. You know how dangerous, gentlemen of threescore? May you know it yet ten more."

"And weeping fast as she had breath Janet implored us, "Wake her from her sleep!" And would not be instructed in how deep Was the forgetful kingdom of death."

"Two evils, monstrous either one apart, Possessed me, and were long and loath at going: A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart, And in the wood the furious winter blowing."