Grey gaolers are my griefs <br />That will not let me free; <br />The bitterness of tears <br />Is warder unto me. <br /> <br />I may not leap or run; <br />I may not laugh nor sing. <br />'Thy cell is small,' they say, <br />'Be still thou captived thing.' <br /> <br />But in the dusk of the night, <br />Too sudden-swift to see, <br />Closing and ivory gates <br />Are refuge unto me. <br /> <br />My griefs, my tears must watch, <br />And cold the watch they keep; <br />They whisper, whisper there - <br />I hear them in my sleep. <br /> <br />They know that I must come, <br />And patient watch they keep, <br />Whispering, shivering there, <br />Till I come back from sleep. <br /> <br />But in the dark of a night, <br />Too dark for them to see, <br />The refuge of black gates <br />Will open unto me. <br /> <br />Whisper up there in the dark. . <br />Shiver by bleak winds stung. . <br />My dead lips laugh to hear <br />How long you wait . . . how long! <br /> <br />Grey gaolers are my griefs <br />That will not let me free; <br />The bitterness of tears <br />Is warder unto me.<br /><br />Adelaide Crapsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mad-song-2/
