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Bells For John Whitesides Daughter

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Written by John Crowe Ransom

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 There was such speed in her little body, 
And such lightness in her footfall, 
It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all 

Her wars were bruited in our high window.
We looked among orchard trees and beyond Where she took arms against her shadow, Or harried unto the pond The lazy geese, like a snow cloud Dripping their snow on the green grass, Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud, Who cried in goose, Alas, For the tireless heart within the little Lady with rod that made them rise From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle Goose-fashion under the skies! But now go the bells, and we are ready, In one house we are sternly stopped To say we are vexed at her brown study, Lying so primly propped.


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