Adelaide Crapsey Quotes

My object to venture the suggestion that an important application of phonetics to metrical problems lies in the study of phonetic word-structure.

These be Three silent things: The Falling snow. . . the hour Before the dawn. . . the mouth of one Just dead.

Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly... Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep?

I knowNot these my handsAnd yet I think there wasA woman like me once had handsLike these.

As it Were tissue of silver I'll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly...Where be bonds to bind the free?All the world was made for me!

Is it as plainly in our living shown, By which way the wind hath blown?

In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sighing Of Greece.

But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. The strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!

Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon's Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan, The moon.

No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!

Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.

With night's Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.

Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady: Red for the five Wounds of her Son.

If illness' end be health regained then I Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I die.

Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I'll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun's Gold flood.

Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart's Shed blood.

The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, -mocking And sweet.

If itWere lighter touchThan petal of flower restingOn grass, oh still too heavy it were, Too heavy!