poem index

poet

Adelaide Crapsey

by this poet

poem
These be 
three silent things: 
The falling snow . . . the hour 
Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one 
Just dead.
poem
I know 
Not these my hands 
And yet I think there was 
A woman like me once had hands 
Like these. 
poem
If it 
Were lighter touch 
Than petal of flower resting 
On grass, oh still too heavy it were, 
Too heavy!