Here you will find the Poem The Lover of poet John Crowe Ransom
I sat in a friendly company And wagged my wicked tongue so well, My friends were listening close to hear The wickedest tales that I could tell. For many a fond youth waits, I said, On many a worthless damozel; But every trusting fool shall learn To wish them heartily in hell. And when your name was spoken too, I did not change, I did not start, And when they only praised and loved, I still could play my secret part, Cursing and lies upon my tongue, And songs and shouting in my heart. But when you came and looked at me, You tried my poor pretence too much. O love, do you know the secret now Of one who would not tell nor touch? Must I confess before the pack Of babblers, idiots, and such? Do they not hear the burst of bells, Pealing at every step you make? Are not their eyelids winking too, Feeling your sudden brightness break? O too much glory shut with us! O walls too narrow and opaque! O come into the night with me And let me speak, for Jesus' sake.
