Poems by Stephen Crane
Many red devils ran from my heart
... Many red devils ran from my heart ...
Should the wide world roll away,
... If thou and thy white arms were there, ...
Behold, the grave of a wicked man
... There came a drooping maid with violets, ...
I met a seer
... -- Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind ...
There was a man and a woman
... Who sinned. Then did the man heap the punishment ...
Once there was a man
... No pain -- There is nothing save opinion, ...
When a people reach the top of a hill,
... Ay, another is the hand of a mother on the brow of a youth ...
There came whisperings in the winds
... Little voices called in the darkness: ...
"It was wrong to do this," said the angel
... "It was wrong to do this," said the angel ...
On the desert
... While mystic things, sinuous, dull with terrible colour, ...
I stood upon a highway
... The little gods you may rightly prefer ...
A youth in apparel that glittered
... To die, thus, In this medieval fashion, ...
You say you are holy
... And that Because I have not seen you sin ...
Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
... Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes ...
Many workmen
... Many workmen Built a huge ball of masonry ...
