Stephen Crane
A little ink more or less!
A little ink more or less! I surely can’t matter? Even the sky and the opulent sea, The plains and the hills, aloof, Hear the uproar of all these books. But it is only
I saw a man pursuing the horizon
I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said, “You can never -“ “You lie,” he cried,
Forth went the candid man
Forth went the candid man And spoke freely to the wind When he looked about him he was in a far strange country. Forth went the candid man And spoke freely to the stars
Ay, workman, make me a dream
Ay, workman, make me a dream, A dream for my love. Cunningly weave sunlight, Breezes, and flowers. Let it be of the cloth of meadows. And good workman And let there be a man
Behold, from the land of the farther suns
Behold, from the land of the farther suns I returned. And I was in a reptile-swarming place, Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces, Shrouded above in black impenetrableness. I shrank, loathing, Sick with it. And I
On the desert
On the desert A silence from the moon’s deepest valley. Fire rays fall athwart the robes Of hooded men, squat and dumb. Before them, a woman Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles And
There were many who went in huddled procession
There were many who went in huddled procession, They knew not whither; But, at any rate, success or calamity Would attend all in equality. There was one who sought a new road. He went
Supposing that I should have the courage
Supposing that I should have the courage To let a red sword of virtue Plunge into my heart, Letting to the weeds of the ground My sinful blood, What can you offer me? A
A man toiled on a burning road
A man toiled on a burning road, Never resting. Once he saw a fat, stupid ass Grinning at him from a green place. The man cried out in rage, “Ah! Do not deride me,
Yes, I have a thousand tongues
Yes, I have a thousand tongues, And nine and ninety-nine lie. Though I strive to use the one, It will make no melody at my will, But is dead in my mouth.
Once there was a man
Once there was a man Oh, so wise! In all drink He detected the bitter, And in all touch He found the sting. At last he cried thus: “There is nothing No life, No
In heaven
In heaven, Some little blades of grass Stood before God. “What did you do?” Then all save one of the little blades Began eagerly to relate The merits of their lives. This one stayed
A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices
A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile, Spreads its curious opinion To a million merciful and sneering men, While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
If I should cast off this tattered coat
If I should cast off this tattered coat, And go free into the mighty sky; If I should find nothing there But a vast blue, Echoless, ignorant What then?
A spirit sped
A spirit sped Through spaces of night; And as he sped, he called, “God! God!” He went through valleys Of black death-slime, Ever calling, “God! God!” Their echoes From crevice and cavern Mocked him: