Winter 1964 • Vol. XXVI No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1964 |

Woman

"All things become thee, being thine," I think sometimes As I think of you. I think: "How many faults In thee have seemed a virtue!" While your taste is on my tongue The years return, blessings innumerable As the breaths that you have quickened, gild my flesh. Lie there in majesty!          When, like Disraeli, I murmur That you are more like a mistress than a wife, More like an angel than a mistress; when, like Satan, I hiss in your ear some vile suggestion, Some delectable abomination, You smile at me indulgently: "Men, men!" You smile at mankind, recognizing in it The absurd occasion of your fall. For men—as your soap operas, as your Home Journals, As your hearts whisper—men are only children. And you believe them. Truly, you are children. Should I love you so dearly if you weren't? If I weren't?       O morning star, Each morning my dull heart goes out to you And rises with the sun, but with the sun Sets not, but all th

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Randall Jarrell was a poet, critic, and literary essayist. From 1937 to 1939 he taught at Kenyon College, where he met John Crowe Ransom and Robert Lowell.

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All or None

By Randall Jarrell

"All things become thee, being thine," I think sometimes As I think of you. I think: "How many faults In thee have seemed a virtue!" While your taste is on […]

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