The Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey

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

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!

On Seeing Weather-Beaten Trees

Is it as plainly in our living shown,
By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown?

Warning To The Mighty

Ere the hornèd owl hoot
Once and twice and thrice there shall
Go among the blind brown worms
News of thy great burial;
When the pomp is passed away,
“Here's a King,” the worms shall say.

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 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.

The Entombment

In a cave born,
(Mary said)
In a cave is
My Son burièd.

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Fingers withdrawn...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...

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?

Narcissus

“Boy, lying
Where the long grass
Edges the pool's brim,
What do you watch
There in the water? the blue
Colour of Heaven
Mirrored, repeated? the brown
Tree-trunks and branches
Waveringly imaged? These,
Boy, do you watch?”

“Nay but mine eyes;
Nay but the trouble
Deep in mine eyes.”

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

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 lov'st not me.

Doom

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!

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 veilèd 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-sandall'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.

Harvesters' Song

Reap, reap the grain and gather
The sweet grapes from the vine;
Our Lord's mother is weeping,
She hath nor bread nor wine;
She is weeping, The Queen of Heaven,
She hath nor bread nor wine.

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

(1)

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

(2)

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

(3)

“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 nor 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.

The Witch

When I was 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 burnt 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, Madonnina
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 thirsty, 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 is drink and 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.

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 Immortal Residue

Inscription for my verse

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.

University of Virginia Library

2. Part II

To Walter Savage Landor

The Pledge