Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall. — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
These be Three silent things: The Falling snow. . . the hour Before the dawn. . . the mouth of one Just dead. — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep? — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
My object to venture the suggestion that an important application of phonetics to metrical problems lies in the study of phonetic word-structure. — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly... Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for… — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
I knowNot these my handsAnd yet I think there wasA woman like me once had handsLike these. — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall. — Adelaide Crapsey Copy Share Image
