---

Adelaide Crapsey - Mad Song
Work rating: Low

Grey gaolers are my griefs 

That will not let me free; 

The bitterness of tears 

Is warder unto me. 


I may not leap or run; 

I may not laugh nor sing. 

"Thy cell is small," they say, 

"Be still thou captived thing." 


But in the dusk of the night, 

Too sudden-swift to see, 

Closing and ivory gates 

Are refuge unto me. 


My griefs, my tears must watch, 

And cold the watch they keep; 

They whisper, whisper there — 

I hear them in my sleep. 


They know that I must come, 

And patient watch they keep, 

Whispering, shivering there, 

Till I come back from sleep. 


But in the dark of a night, 

Too dark for them to see, 

The refuge of black gates 

Will open unto me. 


Whisper up there in the dark. . 

Shiver by bleak winds stung. . 

My dead lips laugh to hear 

How long you wait . . . how long! 


Grey gaolers are my griefs 

That will not let me free; 

The bitterness of tears 

Is warder unto me.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.