Adelaide Crapsey

The Event.

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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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Adelaide Crapsey