Sickness (John Crowe Ransom Poems)
THE toughest carcass in the town Fell sick at last and took to bed, And on that bed God waited him With cool, ...
THE toughest carcass in the town Fell sick at last and took to bed, And on that bed God waited him With cool, ...
At suburban railway stations—-you may see them as you pass—-there are signboards on the platform saying "Wait here second class,"And ...
IThe mellow smell of hollyhocksAnd marigolds and pinks and phloxBlends with the homely garden scentsOf onions, silvering into rods;Of peppers, ...
THE ROOSTER is a brainless dude, although he sports a crest,The hen's an awful fool we know, though hen-eggs are ...
Sing a song of Spring-time,The world is going round,Blown by the south wind:Listen to its sound.'Gurgle' goes the mill-wheel,'Cluck' clucks ...
IDemeter devastated our good land,In blackness for her daughter snatched below.Smoke-pillar or loose hillock was the sand,Where soil had been ...
This day winding down nowAt God speeded summer's endIn the torrent salmon sun,In my seashaken houseOn a breakneck of rocks ...
This day winding down nowAt God speeded summer's endIn the torrent salmon sun,In my seashaken houseOn a breakneck of rocksTangled ...
Over Sir John's hill,The hawk on fire hangs still;In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dusk, he pulls to his ...
SOME summer mornings - when you've taken teaToo late the night before - perhaps you'll see,If at some Berkshire farmhouse ...
Peace is declared, and I return To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things 'ave transpired which made me learn The ...
I DWELL in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the ...
In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes ...
This day winding down now At God speeded summer's end In the torrent salmon sun, In my seashaken house On ...
JANE, Jane, Tall as a crane, The morning light creaks down again; Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair, Jane, Jane, come down ...
"Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me? It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee. "And whit ...
Behold the duck. It does not cluck. A cluck it lacks. It quacks. It is specially fond Of a puddle ...
Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard, Lamps in a wash of rain! Oh the wet walk of ...
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