Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn; Across the fields she sped, Five flowe...
Water still, water deep, how many secrets do you keep? We look upon your surface calm, and feel the peace that is a balm. Now the gentle stream runs faster, r...
Not spring's Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows Rose-tinged.Adelaide Crapseyhttp://www.poemhunter.com/...
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one Just dead.Adelaide Crapseyhttp://www.poemhunter.com/poe...