The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction,
A green bough from Virginia's aged tree,
And none of the county kin like the transaction,
Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me.
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This poem is Ransom at his clever best. Too often Ransom seems to verge on collapsing under the weight of his own importance. But I think he pulls off some effective effects here without seeming to be too enamored of his own sleights of hand.
-chrispoet@netscape.net
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This poem is Ransom at his clever best. Too often Ransom seems to verge on collapsing under the weight of his own importance. But I think he pulls off some effective effects here without seeming to be too enamored of his own sleights of hand. -chrispoet@netscape.net