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Stephen Crane: When the prophet, a complacent fat
When the prophet, a complacent fat man, Arrived at the mountain-top, He cried: "Woe to my knowledge! "I intended to see good white lands "And bad black lands, "But the scene is grey…Stephen Crane: There was a land where lived no
There was a land where lived no violets. A traveller at once demanded: "Why?" The people told him: "Once the violets of this place spoke thus: "'Until some woman freely give her lover "'To…Stephen Crane: There was one I met upon the road
There was one I met upon the road Who looked at me with kind eyes. He said: "Show me of your wares." And I did, Holding forth one, He said: "It is a sin." Then I held forth another. He said…Stephen Crane: Aye, workman, make me a dream,
Aye, 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 walking thereon…Stephen Crane: Each small gleam was a voice,
Each small gleam was a voice, A lantern voice— In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. A chorus of colors came over the water; The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered, No pines…Stephen Crane: The trees in the garden rained flowers.
The trees in the garden rained flowers. Children ran there joyously. They gathered the flowers Each to himself. Now there were some Who gathered great heaps— Having opportunity and skill—…Stephen Crane: Intrigue
IntrigueThou art my love, And thou art the peace of sundown When the blue shadows soothe, And the grasses and the leaves sleep To the song of the little brooks, Woe is me. Thou art my love,…Stephen Crane: Love, forgive me if I wish you grief,
Love, forgive me if I wish you grief, For in your grief You huddle to my breast, And for it Would I pay the price of your grief. You walk among men And all men do not surrender, And thus I…Stephen Crane: To the maiden
To the maiden The sea was blue meadow, Alive with little froth-people Singing. To the sailor, wrecked, The sea was dead grey walls Superlative in vacancy, Upon which nevertheless at fateful…Stephen Crane: Ah, God, the way your little finger moved,
Ah, God, the way your little finger moved, As you thrust a bare arm backward And made play with your hair And a comb, a silly gilt comb —Ah, God—that I should suffer Because of the way a…Trending
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