poem index

November Night

Adelaide Crapsey
Listen. . .
With faint dry sound, 
Like steps of passing ghosts, 
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees 
And fall.

This poem is in the public domain.

Adelaide Crapsey

by this poet

poem
Every day, 
Every day, 
Tell the hours 
By their shadows, 
By their shadows.
poem
I know 
Not these my hands 
And yet I think there was 
A woman like me once had hands 
Like these. 
poem
These be 
three silent things: 
The falling snow . . . the hour 
Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one 
Just dead.