John Crowe Ransom Quotes

The body bears the head (So hardly one they terribly are two) Feeds and obeys and unto please what end? Not to the glory of tyrant head but to The being of body. Beauty is of body.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Painted Head (l. 25-29). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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Away went the messenger's bicycle, His serpent's track went up the hill forever. And all the time she stood there hot as fever And cold as any icicle.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Parting, without a Sequel (l. 21-24). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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Not to these shores she came! this other Thrace, Environ barbarous to the royal Attic; How could her delicate dirge run democratic, Delivered in a cloudless boundless public place To an inordinate race?
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Philomela (l. 17-20). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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Out of the darkness where Philomela sat, Her fairy numbers issued. What then ailed me? My ears are called capacious but they failed me, Her classics registered a little flat! I rose, and venomously spat.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Philomela (l. 31-35). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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—I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Piazza Piece (l. 9-10). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Piazza Piece (l. 7-8). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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Do not enforce the tired wolf Dragging his infected wound homeward To sit tonight with the warm children Naming the pretty kings of France.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Prelude to an Evening (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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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.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Survey of Literature (l. 23-28). . . Oxford Book of American Light Verse, The. William Harmon, ed. (1979) Oxford University Press.
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In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roastbeef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the bottle.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. Survey of Literature (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of American Light Verse, The. William Harmon, ed. (1979) Oxford University Press.
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They burned with fierce love always to come near, But honor beat them back and kept them clear.
John Crowe Ransom (1888-1974), U.S. poet. The Equilibrists (l. 31-32). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.
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