The Event. - Poem by Adelaide Crapsey
Lo, how they weave - the imperturbable three -
Those threads that are my destiny:
Steadily at the eternal task they're bent
Industrious . . . indifferent . . .
Weave, Fates! And what your spinstry weaves I'll forthwith wear
And if it clothe me for the day or death's no air.
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