John Crowe Ransom

For I could tell you a story which is true;Since she was lovelier than any of you.

— John Crowe Ransom

And weeping fast as she had breathWas the forgetful kingdom of death.

— John Crowe Ransom

And a wandering beauty is a blade out of its scabbard.May you know it yet ten more.

— John Crowe Ransom

Here lies a lady of beauty and high degree.And of medicos marveling sweetly on her ills.

— John Crowe Ransom

Two evils, monstrous either one apart,And in the wood the furious winter blowing.

— John Crowe Ransom