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poet

Adelaide Crapsey

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by this poet

poem
Every day, 
Every day, 
Tell the hours 
By their shadows, 
By their shadows.
poem
If it 
Were lighter touch 
Than petal of flower resting 
On grass, oh still too heavy it were, 
Too heavy! 
poem
These be 
three silent things: 
The falling snow . . . the hour 
Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one 
Just dead.