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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..909cefe --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63010 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63010) diff --git a/old/63010-0.txt b/old/63010-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff3f45d..0000000 --- a/old/63010-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2037 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse, by Adelaide Crapsey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Verse - -Author: Adelaide Crapsey - -Commentator: Claude Bragdon - Jean Webster - -Release Date: August 22, 2020 [EBook #63010] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE *** - - - - -Produced by Jessica Hope - - - - -VERSE -ADELAIDE CRAPSEY - -NEW YORK -ALFRED A. KNOPF -1926 - -COPYRIGHT, 1915, 1922, BY -ALGERNON S. CRAPSEY - -First published elsewhere -Second Printing, August, 1922 -Third Printing, December, 1925 - - - - -Set up, electrotyped, printed and bound by the Vail-Ballou -Press, Inc., Binghamton, N.Y. -Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York, N.Y. - -MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -FOREWORD - -Adelaide Crapsey, daughter of Algernon Sidney and Adelaide Trowbridge -Crapsey, was born on the ninth of September, 1878. She died in her -thirty-sixth year on October the eighth, 1914. Her young girlhood -was spent in Rochester, New York, where her eminent father was rector -of St. Andrew's Parish. At fourteen she entered the preparatory -school of Kemper Hall, Kenosha, Wisconsin, from which school she -graduated at the head of her class, in 1897. She entered Vassar -College the same year, graduating with the class of 1901. - -Two years after her graduation she began her work as a teacher of -History and Literature, in Kemper Hall. In 1905 she went abroad and -became a student in the School of Archaeology in Rome. The following -year she assumed the position of instructor in Literature and History -in Miss Lowe's Preparatory School in Stamford, Conn., but in 1908 on -account of failing health she was compelled to abandon teaching for -a time. The two succeeding years she spent in Italy and England, -working on her _Analysis of English Metrics_--an exhaustive scientific -thesis relating to accent--which years before she had planned to -accomplish as her serious life work. - -In 1911 she returned to America and became instructor in Poetics at -Smith College. The double burden of teaching and writing proved too -much for her frail constitution, and in 1913, gravely ill, she was -obliged to abandon definitely and finally both activities. The rest -is a silence broken only by the remarkable verses of her last poetic -phase. - -These are the bare biographical facts in the life of Adelaide -Crapsey, but it would be an injustice to the reader not to attempt to -render some sense of her personality, all compounded of beauty, -mystery and charm. I remember her as fair and fragile, in action -swift, in repose still; so quick and silent in her movements that she -seemed never to enter a room but to appear there, and on the stroke of -some invisible clock to vanish as she had come. - -Although in Meredith's phrase "a man and a woman both for brains," -she was an intensely feminine presence. Perfection was the passion of -her life, and as one discerns it in her verse, one marked it also in -her raiment. In the line - - "And know my tear-drenched veil along the grass" - -I see again her drooping figure with some trail of gossamer -bewitchment clinging about or drifting after her. Although her body -spoke of a fastidious and sedulous care in keeping with her -essentially aristocratic nature, she was merciless in the demands she -made upon it, and this was the direct cause of her loss of health. -The keen and shining blade of her spirit too greatly scorned its -scabbard the body, and for this she paid the uttermost penalty. - -Her death was tragic. Full of the desire of life she yet was forced -to go, leaving her work all unfinished. Her last year was spent in -exile at Saranac Lake. From her window she looked down on the -graveyard--"Trudeau's Garden," she called it, with grim-gay irony. -Here, forbidden the work her metrical study entailed, these poems -grew--flowers of a battlefield of the spirit. But of her passionate -revolt against the mandate of her destiny she spared her family and -friends even a sign. When they came to cheer and comfort her it was -she who brought them cheer and comfort. With magnificent and -appalling courage she gave forth to them the humor and gaiety of her -unclouded years, saving them even beyond the end from knowledge of -this beautiful and terrible testament of a spirit all unreconciled, -flashing "unquenched defiance to the stars." - -This collection of her verse is of her own choosing, arranged and -prepared by her own hand. She wrote gay verse in the earlier days -before the shadow fell upon her, but her rigorous regard for unity -banished it from this record of the fearful questioning of her -spirit. - -This "immortal residue" is full of poignancy and power. The heart -is stricken with her own terror at the approach of - - "The despot of our days the lord of dust." - -The book which is her funeral urn will be found to hold more than -the ashes of a personal passion, it contains - - "Infinite passion, and the pain of finite hearts that yearn." - -Claude Bragdon. -Rochester, N.Y. -October 1915. - - - -PREFACE - -Adelaide Crapsey was, over a term of many years, an eager student of -the technical aspects of English poetry. She died on October eighth -1914, after having completed two-thirds of her _Analysis of English -Metrics_--an exhaustive scientific thesis relating to accent--which, -years before, she had planned to accomplish as her serious life work. -Though her mind was intensely preoccupied with the technical and -analytical aspects of prosody, still the creative, artistic side of -her nature was so spontaneously alive, that she accomplished a very -considerable volume of original poetry--almost as a by-product of her -study in metrics. - -In the gay and somewhat insouciant period of her early days, she could -write finished verse with the ease and readiness that the majority of -people reserve only for the most commonplace of prose. I have -actually known her to produce the book of an acceptable operetta over -the week-end! That early work is gone. It lives only in the memory -of those who happened to be near her at the time. She tossed it off -as the fleeting expression of a moment, and took no slightest care to -preserve it. But several of those early poems stick persistently in -my mind over the years, and though I have no copy and cannot quote -them accurately, I still believe them worthy of a permanent form. -That delightful quality of camaraderie, her quick, bubbling humor she -retained to the end in conversation; the sadder, sombre questioning of -her inner life attained expression only in the poetry she has left. - -These poems, of a gossamer delicacy and finish, are the stronger for -the technical knowledge behind them. Likewise, her technical work -possessed the more vigor because it was not the result of mere -theoretical analysis, but also of the first-hand knowledge gained -through her own creative achievement. In each field she spoke with -the authority that experience in the other gave. Her studies in -prosody were too technical for comprehension by the lay reader. It -is through her creative work that she will be remembered, though she -herself considered this the slightest part of her accomplishment. - -As her study in metrics was astoundingly objective and coldly -unreflective of any emotional mood, so her own poems were at the other -extreme, astoundingly subjective and descriptive of a mental state -that found expression in no other form. They are heart-breakingly -sombre; but they are true. - -Adelaide Crapsey, by nature as vivid and joyous and alive a spirit as -ever loved the beauty of life, like Keats and Stevenson, worked -doggedly for many years against the numbing weight of a creeping -pitiless disease. In her last year, spent in exile at Saranac Lake, -forbidden the strength-sapping work that her metrical study entailed, -she was forced to lie and look into space--and these poems grew. Her -window looked down upon the Saranac graveyard, "Trudeau's garden," -she gaily called it; but its meaning struck home. "To the Dead in the -Graveyard Underneath my Window," was among the papers she left behind. - -The verse form which she calls "Cinquain" she originated herself. It -is an example of extremest compression. She reduces an idea to its -very lowest terms--and presents it in a single sharp impression. - -In spite of the fact that many of these poems were left only in their -first rough draft, they are marvelously perfect. A fastidious -distinction marks all of her work--all of her life--it was the most -characteristic feature of a very rare nature. - -Jean Webster. -_Vassar Miscellany_ -March 1915 - - - -CONTENTS - -PART I - - BIRTH-MOMENT - THE MOTHER EXULTANT - JOHN KEATS - -CINQUAINS - - NOVEMBER NIGHT - RELEASE - TRIAD - SNOW - ANGUISH - TRAPPED - MOON-SHADOWS - SUSANNA AND THE ELDERS - YOUTH - THE GUARDED WOUND - WINTER - NIGHT WINDS - ARBUTUS - ROMA AETERNA - "HE'S KILLED THE MAY . . ." - AMAZE - SHADOW - MADNESS - THE WARNING - SAYING OF IL HABOUL - FATE DEFIED - LAUREL IN THE BERKSHIRES - NIAGARA - THE GRAND CANYON - NOW BARABBAS WAS A ROBBER - FOR LUCAS CRANACH'S _Eve_ - THE SOURCE - BLUE HYACINTHS - -PART II - - TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR - THE PLEDGE - HYPNOS, GOD OF SLEEP - EXPENSES - ON SEEING WEATHER-BEATEN TREES - ADVENTURE - OH, LADY, LET THE SAD TEARS FALL - DIRGE - THE SUN-DIAL - OLD LOVE - AH ME . . . ALAS - PERFUME OF YOUTH - RAPUNZEL - VENDOR'S SONG - AVIS - DOOMSDAY - GRAIN FIELD - SONG - PIERROT - THE MONK IN THE GARDEN - TO THE DEAD IN THE GRAVEYARD UNDERNEATH MY WINDOW - THE MOURNER - NIGHT - ROSE-MARY OF THE ANGELS - ANGÉLIQUE - CHIMES - MAD-SONG - MY BIRDS THAT FLY NO LONGER - THE WITCH - CRY OF THE NYMPH TO EROS - CRADLE-SONG - TO MAN WHO GOES SEEKING IMMORTALITY, - BIDDING HIM LOOK NEARER HOME - THE LONELY DEATH - LO, ALL THE WAY - AUTUMN - THE ELGIN MARBLES - THE CRUCIFIXION - THE FIDDLING LAD - THE IMMORTAL RESIDUE - - - - -PART ONE - - - -BIRTH-MOMENT - -Behold her, -Running through the waves, -Eager to reach the land: -The water laps her, -Healthy, brine-drenched and young, -Behold Desire new-born;-- -Desire on first fulfilment's radiant edge, -Love at miraculous moment of emergence, -This is she, -Who running, -Hastens, hastens to the land. - -Look . . . Look . . . -Her brown gold hair and lucent eyes of youth, -Her body rose and ivory in the sun . . . -Look, -How she hastens, -Running, running to the land. - -Her hands are yearning and her feet are swift -To reach and hold -She knows not what, -Yet knows that it is life; -Need urges her, -Self, uncomprehended but most deep divined, -Unwilled but all-compelling, drives her on. -Life runs to life. -She who longs, -But hath not yet accepted or bestowed, -All virginal dear and bright, -Runs, runs to reach the land. - -And she who runs shall be -Married to blue of summer skies at noon, -Companion to green fields, -Held bride of subtle fragrance and of all sweet sound, -Belovéd of the stars, -And wanton mistress to the veering winds. - -Oh, breathless space between: -Womb-time just passed, -Dark-hidden, chaotic-formative, unpersonal, -And individual life of fresh-created force -Not yet begun: -One moment more -Before desire shall meet desire -And new creation start: -Oh breathless space, -While she, -Just risen from the waves, -Runs, runs to reach the land. - - (Ah, keenest personal moment - When mouth unkissed turns eager-slow and tremulous - Towards lover's mouth, - That tremulous and eager-slow - Droops down to it: - But breathless space of breath or two - Lies in between - Before the mouth upturned and mouth down-drooped - Shall meet and make the kiss.) - -Look . . . Look . . . -She runs . . . -Love fresh-emerged, -Desire new-born . . . -Blown on by wind, -And shone on by the sun, -She rises from the waves -And running, -Hastens, hastens to the land. - - Belovéd and Belovéd and Belovéd, - Even so right - And beautiful and undenied - Is my desire; - Even so longing-swift - I run to your receiving arms. - O Aphrodite! - O Aphrodite, hear! - Hear my wrung cry flame upward poignant-glad. . . . - This is my time for me. - I too am young; - I too am all of love! - -1905. - - - -THE MOTHER EXULTANT - -Joy! Joy! Joy! -The hills are glad, -The valleys re-echo with merriment, -In my heart is the sound of laughter, -And my feet dance to the time of it; -Oh, little son, carried light on my shoulder, -Let us go laughing and dancing through the live days, -For this is the hour of the vintage, -When man gathereth for himself the fruits of the vineyard. - -Look, little son, look; -The grapes are translucent and ripe, -They are heavy and fragrant with juice, -They wait for the hands of the vintagers; -For a long time the grapes were not, -And were in the womb of the earth, -Then out of the heavens came the rain, -The sun sent down his warmth from the sky, -At the touch of life, life stirred, -And the earth brought forth her fruits in due season. - - I was a maid and alone, - When, behold, there came to me a vision; - My heart cried out within me, - And the voice was the voice of God. - Yea, a virgin I dreamed of love, - And I was troubled and sore afraid, - I wept and was glad, - For the word of my heart named me blesséd, - My soul exalted the might of creation. - I was a maid and alone, - When, behold, my lover came to me, - My belovéd held me in his arms. - - Joy! Joy! Joy! - Now is the vision fulfilled: - I have conceived, - I have carried in my womb, - I have brought forth - The life of the world; - Out of my joy and my pain, - Out of the fulness of my living - Hath my son gained his life. - -Look, little son, look; -The grapes are ripe for the gathering, -The fresh, deep earth is in them, -And clean water from the clouds. -And golden, golden sun is in the heart of the grapes. -Look, little son, look; -The earth, your mother, -And the touch of life who is your father, -They have provided food for you -That you also may live. - - The vineyards are planted on the hillside, - They are the vineyards of my belovéd, - He chose a favorable spot, - His hands prepared the soil for the planting: - He set out the young vines - And cared for them till the time of their bearing. - Now is his labour fulfilled who worked with God. - The fruit of the vineyard is ripe, - The vintagers laugh in the sun, - They sing while they gather the grapes, - For the vintage is a good one, - The wine vats are pressed down and running over. - - Joy! Joy! Joy! - Now is the wonder accomplished; - Out of the heart of the living grape - Hath the hand of my belovéd - Wrung the wine of the dream of life. - - Belovéd, - My little son's father, - Together we have given life, - And the vision of life; - Shall we not rejoice - Who have made eternal - The days of our living? - -Look, little son, look: -The grapes glow with rich juice, -The juice of the grape hath in it -The substance of the earth, -And the air's breath; -It hath in it the soul of the vintage. -Put forth your hand, little son, -And take for yourself the life -That your father and your mother -Have provided for you. - - Joy! Joy! Joy! - The hills are glad, - The valleys re-echo with merriment, - In my heart is the sound of laughter, - And my feet dance to the time of it; - Oh, little son, carried light on my shoulder, - Let us go laughing and dancing through the live days, -For this is the hour of the vintage, -When man gathereth for himself the fruits of the vineyard. - -1905. - - - -JOHN KEATS - -Meet thou the event -And terrible happening of -Thine end: for thou art come -Upon the remote, cold place -Of ultimate dissolution and -With dumb, wide look -Thou, impotent, dost feel -Impotence creeping on -Thy potent soul. Yea, now, caught in -The aghast and voiceless pain -Of death, thyself doth watch -Thyself becoming naught. -Peace . . . Peace . . . for at -The last is comfort. Lo, now -Thou hast no pain. Lo, now -The waited presence is -Within the room; the voice -Speaks final-gentle: "Child, -Ever thy careful nurse, -I lift thee in my arms -For greater ease and while -Thy heart still beats, place my -Cool fingers of oblivion on -Thine eyes and close them for -Eternity. Thou shalt -Pass sleeping, nor know -When sleeping ceases. Yet still -A little while thy breathing lasts, -Gradual is faint and fainter; I -Must listen close--the end." - -Rest. And you others . . . All. -Grave-fellows in -Green place. Here grows -Memorial every spring's -Fresh grass and here -Your marking monument -Was built for you long, long -Ago when Caius Cestius died. - - - - -CINQUAINS -1911-1913 - - - -NOVEMBER NIGHT - -Listen . . . -With faint dry sound, -Like steps of passing ghosts, -The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees -And fall. - - - -RELEASE - -With swift -Great sweep of her -Magnificent arm my pain -Clanged back the doors that shut my soul -From life. - - - -TRIAD - -These be -Three silent things: -The falling snow . . . the hour -Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one -Just dead. - - - -SNOW - -Look up . . . -From bleakening hills -Blows down the light, first breath -Of wintry wind . . . look up, and scent -The snow! - - - -ANGUISH - -Keep thou -Thy tearless watch -All night but when blue-dawn -Breathes on the silver moon, then weep! -Then weep! - - - -TRAPPED - -Well and -If day on day -Follows, and weary year -On year . . . and ever days and years . . . -Well? - - - -MOON-SHADOWS - -Still as -On windless nights -The moon-cast shadows are, -So still will be my heart when I -Am dead. - - - -SUSANNA AND THE ELDERS - -"Why do -You thus devise -Evil against her?" "For that -She is beautiful, delicate; -Therefore." - - - -YOUTH - -But me -They cannot touch, -Old Age and death . . . the strange -And ignominious end of old -Dead folk! - - - -THE GUARDED WOUND - -If it -Were lighter touch -Than petal of flower resting -On grass, oh still too heavy it were, -Too heavy! - - - -WINTER - -The cold -With steely clutch -Grips all the land . . . alack, -The little people in the hills -Will die! - - - -NIGHT WINDS - -The old -Old winds that blew -When chaos was, what do -They tell the clattered trees that I -Should weep? - - - -ARBUTUS - -Not Spring's -Thou art, but her's, -Most cool, most virginal, -Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows -Rose-tinged. - - - -ROMA AETERNA - -The sun -Is warm to-day, -O Romulus, and on -Thine olden Palatine the birds -Still sing. - - - -"HE'S KILLED THE MAY . . ." - -_"He's killed the May and he's laid her by - To bear the red rose company."_ - -Not thou, -White rose, but thy -Ensanguined sister is -The dear companion of my heart's -Shed blood. - - - -AMAZE - -I know -Not these my hands -And yet I think there was -A woman like me once had hands -Like these. - - - -SHADOW - -A-sway, -On red rose, -A golden butterfly . . . -And on my heart a butterfly -Night-wing'd. - - - -MADNESS - -Burdock, -Blue aconite, -And thistle and thorn . . . of these, -Singing, I wreathe my pretty wreath -O'death. - - - -THE WARNING - -Just now, -Out of the strange -Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . . -A white moth flew. Why am I grown -So cold? - - - -SAYING OF IL HABOUL - -_Guardian of the Treasure of Solomon -And Keeper of the Prophet's Armour_ - -My tent -A vapour that -The wind dispels and but -As dust before the wind am I -Myself. - - - -FATE DEFIED - -As it -Were tissue of silver -I'll wear, O fate, thy grey, -And go mistily radiant, clad -Like the moon. - - - -LAUREL IN THE BERKSHIRES - -Sea-foam -And coral! Oh, I'll -Climb the great pasture rocks -And dream me mermaid in the sun's -Gold flood. - - - -NIAGARA - -_Seen on a Night in November_ - -How frail -Above the bulk -Of crashing water hangs, -Autumnal, evanescent, wan, -The moon. - - - -THE GRAND CANYON - -By Zeus! -Shout word of this -To the eldest dead! Titans, -Gods, Heroes, come who have once more -A home! - - - -NOW BARABBAS WAS A ROBBER - -No guile? -Nay, but so strangely -He moves among us. . . . Not this -Man but Barabbas! Release to us -Barabbas! - - - -FOR LUCAS CRANACH's _EVE_ - -Oh me, -Was there a time -When Paradise knew Eve -In this sweet guise, so placid and -So young? - - - -THE SOURCE - -Thou hast -Drawn laughter from -A well of secret tears -And thence so elvish it rings,--mocking -And sweet: - - - -BLUE HYACINTHS - -In your -Curled petals what ghosts -Of blue headlands and seas, -What perfumed immortal breath sighing -Of Greece. - - - - -PART TWO - - - -TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR - -Ah, Walter, where you live I rue - These days come all too late for me; -What matter if her eyes are blue - Whose rival is Persephone? - -Fiesole, 1909. - - - -THE PLEDGE - -White doves of Cytherea, by your quest - Across the blue Heaven's bluest highest air, -And by your certain homing to Love's breast, - Still to be true and ever true--I swear. - - - -HYPNOS, GOD OF SLEEP - -The shadowy boy of night - Crosses the dusking land; -He sows his poppy-seeds - With steady gentle hand. - -The shadowy boy of night, - Young husbandman of dreams, -Garners his gracious blooms - By far and moonlit streams. - - - -EXPENSES - -Little my lacking fortunes show - For this to eat and that to wear; -Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! - An obol pays the Stygian fare. - -London, 1910. - - - -ON SEEING WEATHER-BEATEN TREES - -Is it as plainly in our living shown, -By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown? - - - -ADVENTURE - -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! - - - -OH, LADY, LET THE SAD TEARS FALL - -Oh, Lady, let the sad tears fall - To speak thy pain, -Gently as through the silver dusk - The silver rain. - -Oh, let thy bosom breathe its grief - In such a soft sigh -As hath the wind in gardens where - Pale roses die. - - - -DIRGE - -Never the nightingale, - Oh, my dear, -Never again the lark - Thou wilt hear; -Though dusk and the morning still -Tap at thy window-sill, -Though ever love call and call -Thou wilt not hear at all, - My dear, my dear. - - - -THE SUN-DIAL - -Every day, -Every day, -Tell the hours -By their shadows, -By their shadows. - - - -OLD LOVE - - More dim than waning moon - Thy face, more faint - Than is the falling wind - Thy voice, yet do - Thine eyes most strangely glow, -Thou ghost . . . thou ghost. - - - -AH ME. . . . ALAS. . . . - -(_He_) - -Ah me, my love's heart, -Like some frail flower, apart, -High, on the cliff's edge growing, -Touched by unhindered sun to sweeter showing, -Swung by each faint wind's faintest blowing, -But so, on the cliff's edge growing, -From man's reach aloof, apart: -Ah me, my love's heart! - -(_She_) - -Alack, alas, my lover, -As one who would discover -At world's end his path, -Nor knows at all what faëry way he hath -Who turneth dreaming into faith -And followeth that near path -His own heart dareth to discover: -Alack, alas, my lover! - - - -PERFUME OF YOUTH - -(_Girl's Song_) - -In Babylon, in Nineveh, - And long ago, and far away, -The lilies and the lotus blew - That are my sweet of youth to-day. - -From those high gardens of the Gods - That eyes of men may never see, -The amaranth and asphodel - Immortal odours shed on me. - -In vial of my early years, - As in a crystal vial held, -What precious fragrance treasured up - Of age and agelessness distill'd. - -_Thine but to give. Give straightway all._ - Yea, straight, mine hands the ointment rare -In great libation joyous pour! - Oh, look of youth. . . . Oh, golden hair. . . . - - - -RAPUNZEL - -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 left at dawn. . . . I am blind - In the tangle of my long hair. . . . -Is it she? the witch? the witch? - Ah, who is there? - - - -VENDOR'S SONG - -My songs to sell, good sir! - I pray you buy. -Here's one will win a lady's tears, - Here's one will make her gay, -Here's one will charm your true love true - Forever and a day; -Good sir, I pray you buy! - -_Oh, no, he will not buy._ - -My songs to sell, sweet maid! - I pray you buy. -This one will teach you Lilith's lore, - And this what Helen knew, -And this will keep your gold hair gold, - And this your blue eyes blue; -Sweet maid, I pray you buy! - -_Oh, no, she will not buy. - -If I'd as much money as I could tell, -I never would cry my songs to sell, -I never would cry my songs to sell._ - - - -AVIS - -"_Belle Aliz matin leva._" - -Avis, the fair, at dawn -Rose lightly from her bed, -Herself arrayed. -Avis, the fair, the maid, -In vestiment of lawn; -Across the fields she sped, -Five flowerets there she found, -In fragrant garland wound, -Avis, the fair, at dawn, -Five roses red. - -Go thou from thence of thy pity! -Thou lovest not me. - - - -DOOMSDAY - -Peter stands by the gate, -And Michael by the throne. -"Peter, I would pass the gate -And come before the throne." -"Whose spirit prayed never at the gate, -In life nor at the throne, -In death he may not pass the gate -To come before the throne": -Peter said from the gate; -Said Michael from the throne. - - - -GRAIN FIELD - -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 - - - -SONG - -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 my shroud and no one knows, -So shimmering fine it is and fair. - - - -PIERROT - -_For Aubrey Beardsley's picture "Pierrot is dying."_ - -Pierrot is dying; - Tiptoe in, -Finger touched to lip, - Harlequin, -Columbine and Clown. - -Hush! how still he lies - In his bed, -White slipped hand and white - Sunken head. -Oh, poor Pierrot. - -There's his dressing-gown - Across the chair, -Slippers on the floor. . . . - Can he hear -Us who tiptoe in? - -Pillowed high he lies - In his bed; -Listen, Columbine. - "He is dead." -Oh, poor Pierrot. - - - -THE MONK IN THE GARDEN - -_He comes from Mass early in the morning_ - -The sky's the very blue Madonna wears; - The air's alive with gold! Mark you the way -The birds sing and the dusted shimmer of dew -On leaf and fruit? . . . Per Bacco, what a day! - - - -TO THE DEAD IN THE GRAVEYARD UNDERNEATH MY WINDOW - -_Written in a Moment of Exasperation_ - -How can you lie so still? All day I watch -And never a blade of all the green sod moves -To show where restlessly you turn and toss, -Or fling a desperate arm or draw up knees -Stiffened and aching from their long disuse; -I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth -To take its freedom of the midnight hour. -Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones? -The very worms must scorn you where you lie, -A pallid, mouldering, asquiescent folk, -Meek habitants of unresented graves. -Why are you there in your straight row on row -Where I must ever see you from my bed -That in your mere dumb presence iterate -The text so weary in my ears: "Lie still -And rest; be patient and lie still and rest." -I'll not be patient! I will not lie still! -There is a brown road runs between the pines, -And further on the purple woodlands lie, -And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom; -And I would walk the road and I would be -Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach -The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds. -My eyes may follow but my feet are held. -Recumbent as you others must I too -Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness -With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod? -And if the many sayings of the wise -Teach of submission I will not submit -But with a spirit all unreconciled -Flash an unquenched defiance to the stars. -Better it is to walk, to run, to dance, -Better it is to laugh and leap and sing, -To know the open skies of dawn and night, -To move untrammeled down the flaming noon, -And I will clamour it through weary days -Keeping the edge of deprivation sharp, -Nor with the pliant speaking of my lips -Of resignation, sister to defeat. -I'll not be patient. I will not lie still. - -And in ironic quietude who is -The despot of our days and lord of dust -Needs but, scarce heeding, wait to drop -Grim casual comment on rebellion's end; -_"Yes, yes. . . . Wilful and petulant but now -As dead and quiet as the others are."_ -And this each body and ghost of you hath heard -That in your graves do therefore lie so still. - -Saranac Lake, N.Y. 1914. - - - -THE MOURNER - -I have no heart for noon-tide and the sun, -But I will take me where more tender night -Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy darkness down, -And shelters me that I may weep in peace, -And feel no pitying eyes, and hear no voice -Attempt my grief in comfort's alien tongue. - -Where cypresses, more black than night is black, -Border straight paths, or where, on hillside slopes, -The dim grey glimmer of the olive trees -Lies like a breath, a ghost, upon the dark, -There will I wander when the nightingale -Ceases, and even the veiled stars withdraw -Their tremulous light, there find myself at rest, -A silence and a shadow in the gloom. - -But all the dead of all the world shall know -The pacing of my sable-sandal'd feet, -And know my tear-drenched veil along the grass, -And think them less forsaken in their graves, -Saying: There's one remembers, one still mourns; -For the forgotten dead are dead indeed. - - - -NIGHT - -I have minded me -Of the noon-day brightness, -And the crickets' drowsy -Singing in the sunshine. . . . - -I have minded me -Of the slim marsh-grasses -That the winds at twilight, -Dying, scarcely ripple. . . . - -And I cannot sleep. - -I have minded me -Of a lily-pond, -Where the waters sway -All the moonlit leaves -And the curled long stems. . . . - -And I cannot sleep. - - - -ROSE-MARY OF THE ANGELS - -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 its mortal sound is given, -Swift bird-voice, so young and clear? - -How God will be glad of thee, -Little Sister Rose-Marie! - - - -ANGÉLIQUE - -Have you seen Angélique, -What way she went? -A white robe she wore, -A flickering light near spent -Her pale hand bore. - -Have you seen Angélique? -Will she know the place -Dead feet must find, -The grave-cloth on her face -To make her blind? - -Have you seen Angélique. . . . -At night I hear her moan, -And I shiver in my bed; -She wanders all alone, -She cannot find the dead. - - - -CHIMES - -I - -The rose new-opening saith, -And the dew of the morning saith, -(Fallen leaves and vanished dew) -Remember death. - _Ding dong bell - Ding dong bell_ - -II - -May-moon thin and young - In the sky, -Ere you wax and wane - I shall die: -So my faltering breath, -So my tired heart saith, -That foretell me death. - _Ding-dong - Ding-dong - Ding-dong ding-dong bell_ - -III - -"Thy gold hair likes me well - And thy blue eyes," he saith, -Who chooses where he will - And none may hinder--Death. - - _At head and feet for candles - Roses burning red, - The valley lilies tolling - For the early dead: - Ding-dong ding-dong - Ding-dong ding-dong - Ding-dong ding-dong bell - Ding dong bell_ - - - -MAD SONG - -Grey gaolers are my griefs - That will not let me free; -The bitterness of tears - Is warder unto me. - -I may not leap or run; - I may not laugh nor sing. -"Thy cell is small," they say, - "Be still thou captived thing." - -But in the dusk of the night, - Too sudden-swift to see, -Closing and ivory gates - Are refuge unto me. - -My griefs, my tears must watch, - And cold the watch they keep; -They whisper, whisper there-- - I hear them in my sleep. - -They know that I must come, - And patient watch they keep, -Whispering, shivering there, - Till I come back from sleep. - -But in the dark of a night, - Too dark for them to see, -The refuge of black gates - Will open unto me. - -Whisper up there in the dark. . . . - Shiver by bleak winds stung. . . . -My dead lips laugh to hear - How long you wait . . . how long! - -Grey gaolers are my griefs - That will not let me free; -The bitterness of tears - Is warder unto me. - - - -MY BIRDS THAT FLY NO LONGER - -Have ye forgot, sweet birds, - How near the heavens lie? -Drooping, sick-pinion'd, oh - Have ye forgot the sky? - -The air that once I knew - Whispered celestial things; -I weep who hear no more - Upward and rushing wings. - - - -THE WITCH - -When I was a girl by Nilus stream - I watched the desert stars arise; -My lover, he who dreamed the Sphinx, - Learned all his dreaming from my eyes. - -I bore in Greece a burning name, - And I have been in Italy -Madonna to a painter-lad, - And mistress to a Medici. - -And have you heard (and I have heard) - Of puzzled men with decorous mien, -Who judged--The wench knows far too much-- - And hanged her on the Salem green? - - - -CRY OF THE NYMPH TO EROS - -Hear thou my lamentatïon, -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 planted the seeds of her flowers, -And smiled at the planting and wept at the planting. Oh, violets -Ye are dead and your whiteness, your sweetness, availed not. Thy mother -Is cruel. Her flowers lie dead at the steps of her altar, - Eros! Eros! - -With a shining like silver they cut through the blue of the sky - Eros! - -The dove's wings, the white doves I brought to thy mother in worship; -And I said, she will laugh for joy of my doves. - Oh, stillness -Of dead wings. She laughed not nor looked. - My doves are dead, -Are dead at the steps of her altar. Thy mother is cruel - Eros! Eros! - -Hear thou my lamentatïon, -Eros, Aphrodite's son! -My heart is broken and my days are done. - - - -CRADLE-SONG - -Madonna, Madonna, -Sat by the grey road-side, -Saint Joseph her beside, -And Our Lord at her breast; -Oh they were fain to rest, -Mary and Joseph and Jesus, -All by the grey road-side. - -She said, Madonna Mary, -"I am hungry, Joseph, and weary, -All in the desert wide." -Then bent a tall palm-tree -Its branches low to her knee; -"Behold," the palm-tree said, -"My fruit that shall be your bread." -So were they satisfied, -Mary and Joseph and Jesus, -All by the grey road-side. - -From Herod they were fled -Over the desert wide, -Mary and Joseph and Jesus, -In Egypt to abide: -Mary and Joseph and Jesus, -In Egypt to abide. - -The blessèd Queen of Heaven -Her own dear Son hath given -For my son's sake; his sleep -Is safe and sweet and deep. - - Lully . . . Lulley. . . . -So may you sleep alway, -My baby, my dear son: -Amen, Amen, Amen. - -My baby, my dear son. - - - -TO MAN WHO GOES SEEKING IMMORTALITY, - BIDDING HIM LOOK NEARER HOME - -Too far afield thy search. Nay, turn. Nay, turn. - At thine own elbow potent Memory stands, -Thy double, and eternity is cupped - In the pale hollow of those ghostly hands. - - - -THE LONELY DEATH - -In the cold I will rise, I will bathe -In waters of ice; myself -Will shiver, and shrive myself, -Alone in the dawn, and anoint -Forehead and feet and hands; -I will shutter the windows from light, -I will place in their sockets the four -Tall candles and set them a-flame -In the grey of the dawn; and myself -Will lay myself straight in my bed, -And draw the sheet under my chin. - - - -LO, ALL THE WAY - - Lo, all the way, -Look you, I said, the clouds will break, the sky - Grow clear, the road -Be easier for my travelling, the fields, - So sodden and dead, -Will shimmer with new green and starry bloom, - And there will be, -There will be then, with all serene and fair, - Some little while -For some light laughter in the sun; and lo, - The journey's end-- -Grey road, grey fields, wind and a bitter rain. - - - -AUTUMN - -Fugitive, wistful, -Pausing at edge of her going, -Autumn the maiden turns, -Leans to the earth with ineffable -Gesture. Ah, more than -Spring's skies her skies shine -Tender, and frailer -Bloom than plum-bloom or almond -Lies on her hillsides, her fields -Misted, faint-flushing. Ah, lovelier -Is her refusal than -Yielding, who pauses with grave -Backward smiling, with light -Unforgettable touch of -Fingers withdrawn. . . Pauses, lo -Vanishes . . . fugitive, wistful. . . . - - - -THE ELGIN MARBLES - -The clustered Gods, the marching lads, - The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed Three, -The shimmering grey-gold London fog. . . . - I wish that Phidias could see! - - - -THE CRUCIFIXION - -_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 shuddering darkness, these am I. - -The dying at His right hand, at His left - I am--the thief redeemed and the lost thief; -I am the careless folk; I those bereft, - The Well-Belov'd, the women bowed in grief. - -The gathering Presence that in terror cried, - In earth's shock, in the Temple's veil rent through, -I; and a watcher, ignorant, curious-eyed, - I the centurion who heard and knew. - - - -THE FIDDLING LAD - -"There'll 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 thrive."_ - -"I'll have the skies to shelter me, - The green grass it shall be my bed, -And happen I'll find somewhere for me - A sup of drink, a bit of bread; - _And I'll not give my fiddle - To any man alive."_ - -And it's out he went across the wold, - His fiddle tucked beneath his chin, -And (golden bow on silver strings) - Smiling he fiddled the twilight in; - -And fiddled in the frosty moon, - And all the stars of the Milky Way, -And fiddled low through the dark of dawn, - And laughed and fiddled in the day. - -But oh, he had no bit nor sup, - And oh, the winds blew stark and cold, -And when he dropped on his grass-green bed - It's long he slept on the open wold. - -They digged his grave and, "There," they said, - "He's got more land than ever he had, -And well it will keep him held and housed, - The feckless bit of a fiddling lad." - -And it's out he's stepped across the wold - His fiddle tucked beneath his chin-- -A wavering shape in the wavering light, - Smiling he fiddles the twilight in, - -And fiddles in the frosty moon, - And all the stars of the Milky Way, -And fiddles low through the dark of dawn, - And laughs and fiddles in the day. - -He needeth not or bit or sup, - The winds of night he need not fear, -And (bow of gold on silver strings) - It's all the peoples turn to hear. - -"Oh never," It's all the people cry, - "Came such sweet sounds from mortal hand"; -And, "Listen," they say, "it's some ghostly boy - That goes a-fiddling through the land. - -Hark you! It's night comes slipping in,-- - The moon and the stars that tread the sky; -And there's the breath of the world that stops; - And now with a shout the sun comes by!" - -Who heareth him he heedeth not - But smiles content, the fiddling lad; -He murmurs, "Oh many's the happy day, - My fiddle and I together have had; - _And could I give my fiddle - To any many alive?"_ - - - -THE IMMORTAL RESIDUE - -Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look -In the pages of my book; -And, as these thy hand doth turn, -Know here is my funeral urn. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse, by Adelaide Crapsey - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE *** - -***** This file should be named 63010-0.txt or 63010-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/0/1/63010/ - -Produced by Jessica Hope -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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