Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
Listen.
.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
With swift
Great sweep of her
Magnificent arm my pain
Clanged back the doors that shut my soul
From life.
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Written by
Edgar Allan Poe |
Helen thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore
That gently o'er a perfumed sea
The weary wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam
Thy hyacinth hair thy classic face
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah Psyche from the regions which
Are Holy Land!
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
Look up…
From bleakening hills
Blows down the light, first breath
Of wintry wind…look up, and scent
The snow!
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Written by
George Herbert |
Love built a stately house, where Fortune came,
And spinning fancies, she was heard to say
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,
Whereas they were supported by the same;
But Wisdom quickly swept them all away.
The Pleasure came, who, liking not the fashion,
Began to make balconies, terraces,
Till she had weakened all by alteration;
But reverend laws, and many a proclomation
Reform?d all at length with menaces.
Then entered Sin, and with that sycamore
Whose leaves first sheltered man from drought and dew,
Working and winding slily evermore,
The inward walls and summers cleft and tore;
But Grace shored these, and cut that as it grew.
Then Sin combined with death in a firm band,
To raze the building to the very floor;
Which they effected,--none could them withstand;
But Love and Grace took Glory by the hand,
And built a braver palace than before.
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
Still as
On windless nights
The moon-cast shadows are,
So still will be my heart when I
Am dead.
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
Well and
If day on day
Follows, and weary year
On year…and ever days and years…
Well?
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Written by
Ron Padgett |
My room looks like a cage
The sun sticks its arm through the window
But I who want to smoke and make mirages
I light my cigarette with daylight
I don’t want to work I want to smoke
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
But me
They cannot touch,
Old Age and death…the strange
And ignominious end of old
Dead folk!
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Written by
Adelaide Crapsey |
Keep thou
Thy tearless watch
All night but when blue-dawn
Breathes on the silver moon, then weep!
Then weep!
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