The Fiddler Adelaide Crapsey ‘There’s be no roof to shelter you; You’ll have no where to lay your head. And who will get your food for you? Star-dust pays for no man’s bread. So, Jacky, come give me your fiddle If ever you mean to...
The Event Adelaide Crapsey Lo, how they weave – the imperturbable three Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’re bent Industrious . . . indifferent . . . Weave, Fates! And what your spinstry weaves I’ll forthwith wear And if...
The Cry Of The Nymph To Eros Adelaide Crapsey Hear thou my lamentation, Eros, Aphrodite’s son! My heart is broken and my days are done. Where the woods are dark and the stream runs clear in the dark, Eros! I prayed to thy mother and...
The Crucifixion Adelaide Crapsey And the centurion who stood by said: Truly this was a son of God. Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy sky. Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclipse I know; Hill, sky, the...
The Companions Adelaide Crapsey Three grey women walk with me Fate and Grief and Memory. My fate brought grief; my grief must be With me through Eternity, Such thy power, memory. Three grey women walk with me.
Tears Adelaide Crapsey The immemorial grief of all years Burdes my heart sorely, and the years Of slow eternal crying stain my cheeks. Forever and forever my soul speaks Saying: I am thy self: Look on me And weep. Never and never shalt thou be...
Song Adelaide Crapsey I make my shroud, but no one knows So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows. In door-way where the lilac blows, Humming a little wandering air, I make...
Rose-Mary Of The Angels Adelaide Crapsey Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy feet as willing-light Run through Paradise, I wonder, As they run the blue skies under, Willing feet, so airy-light? Little Sister Rose-Marie Will thy voice as bird-note clear Lift and ripple over Heaven As...
Rapunzel Adelaide Crapsey All day, all day I brush My golden strands of hair; All day I wait and wait.. Ah, who is there? Who calls? Who calls? The gold Ladder of my long hair I loose and wait..and wait.. Ah, who is there? She...
Pierrot Adelaide Crapsey For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin, Columbine and Clown. Hugh! how still he lies In his bed, White slipped hand and white Sunker head. Oh, poor Pierrot. There’s his dressing gown Across the chair,...
