Adelaide Crapsey (September 9, 1878 – October 8, 1914) was an American poet. Born in Brooklyn, New York, she was raised in Rochester, New York, daughter of Episcopal priest Algernon Sidney Crapsey, who had been transferred from New York City to Rochester, and Adelaide T. Crapsey.
She attended public school in Rochester, and then Kemper Hall, an Episcopal girls' preparatory school in Kenosha, Wisconsin, before entering Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, where she was class poet for three years and editor-in-chief of the Vassarion in 1901, the year she graduated.
That same year her sister Emily died, and Adelaide delayed starting her teaching career for a year. In ... more »
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Adelaide Crapsey Poems
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver
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
In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sighing
For Lucas Cranach's Eve
Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and
Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly… Where be bonds to bind the free?
Hypnos, God Of Sleep
The shadowy boy of night Crosses the dusking land; He sows his poppy-seeds With steady, gentle hand.
I know Not these my hands
As I Went
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist,
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then weep!
The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew)
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable
The Properly Scholarly Attitude
The poet pursues his beautiful theme; The preacher his golden beatitude; And I run after a vanishing dream—
Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast;
The morning is new and the skies are fresh washed with light, The day cometh in with the sun and I awake laughing.
Were tissue of silver
I'll wear, O fate, thy grey,
And go mistily radiant, clad
Like the moon.
Old winds that blew
When chaos was, what do
They tell the clattered trees that I
Out of the strange
Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . .
A white moth flew . . . Why am I grown