Blue Girls by John Crowe Ransom

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 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.

by John Crowe Ransom

Other poems by 'John Crowe Ransom'

Bells For John Whiteside's Daughter

Captain Carpenter

Conrad in Twilight

Dead Boy

Necrological

Painted Head

Piazza Piece

Prelude to an Evening

The Equilibrists

Winter Remembered