John Crowe Ransom

(30 April 1888 - 3 July 1974 / Pulaski Tennessee)

John Crowe Ransom Poems

1. November 3/31/2010
2. Sickness 3/31/2010
3. The Cloak Model 3/31/2010
4. One Who Rejects Christ 3/31/2010
5. Overtures 3/31/2010
6. The Ingrate 3/31/2010
7. Vaunting Oak 3/31/2010
8. The Resurrection 3/31/2010
9. The Lover 3/31/2010
10. The Four Roses 3/31/2010
11. Sunset 3/31/2010
12. The Swimmer 3/31/2010
13. Prayer 3/31/2010
14. Roses 3/31/2010
15. The Bachelor 3/31/2010
16. The Christian 3/31/2010
17. Street Light 3/31/2010
18. The School 3/31/2010
19. Romance Of A Youngest Daughter 3/31/2010
20. Noonday Grace 3/31/2010
21. Moonlight 3/31/2010
22. Friendship 3/31/2010
23. Under The Locusts 3/31/2010
24. Eclogue 3/31/2010
25. Morning 3/31/2010
26. Miriam Tazewell 3/31/2010
27. Darkness 3/31/2010
28. The Power Of God 3/31/2010
29. Two In August 3/31/2010
30. Wrestling 3/31/2010
31. Men 3/31/2010
32. Geometry 3/31/2010
33. Grace 3/31/2010
34. Spectral Lovers 3/31/2010
35. April 3/31/2010
36. April Treason 3/31/2010
37. A Christmas Colloquy 3/31/2010
38. Worship 3/31/2010
39. Dumb-Bells 3/31/2010
40. By The Riverside 3/31/2010
Best Poem of John Crowe Ransom

Blue Girls

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 ...

Read the full of Blue Girls

Necrological

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.

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