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Stephen Crane Short Poems

Famous Short Stephen Crane Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Stephen Crane. A collection of the all-time best Stephen Crane short poems


by Stephen Crane
 I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
and carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning, And said, "Comrade! Brother!"



by Stephen Crane
 There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare; Women wept; Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this?" Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamour of tongues, That still the reason was not.

by Stephen Crane
 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 time Was written The grim hatred of nature.

by Stephen Crane
 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 walking thereon.

by Stephen Crane
 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 into direful thickets, And ultimately he died thus, alone; But they said he had courage.

by Stephen Crane
 "It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
"You should live like a flower, Holding malice like a puppy, Waging war like a lambkin.
" "Not so," quoth the man Who had no fear of spirits; "It is only wrong for angels Who can live like the flowers, Holding malice like the puppies, Waging war like the lambkins.
"

by Stephen Crane
 "Think as I think," said a man,
"Or you are abominably wicked;
You are a toad.
" And after I had thought of it, I said, "I will, then, be a toad.
"

by Stephen Crane
 A learned man came to me once.
He said, "I know the way, -- come.
" And I was overjoyed at this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we Where my eyes were useless, And I knew not the ways of my feet.
I clung to the hand of my friend; But at last he cried, "I am lost.
"

by Stephen Crane
 A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it --
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part: When the man went to the earth And looked again, Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part: It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.

by Stephen Crane
 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 -- Yellow light tore sight from his eyes.
"My good fool," said a learned bystander, "Your operations are mad.
" "You are too candid," cried the candid man, And when his stick left the head of the learned bystander It was two sticks.

by Stephen Crane
 Charity thou art a lie,
A toy of women,
A pleasure of certain men.
In the presence of justice, Lo, the walls of the temple Are visible Through thy form of sudden shadows.

by Stephen Crane
 "And the sins of the fathers shall be
visited upon the heads of the children,
even unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me.
" Well, then I hate thee, unrighteous picture; Wicked image, I hate thee; So, strike with thy vengeance The heads of those little men Who come blindly.
It will be a brave thing.

by Stephen Crane
 Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
"To save my lady!"
Fast rode the knIght,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed Like riot of silver lights, And the gold of the knight's good banner Still waved on a castle wall.
.
.
.
.
.
A horse, Blowing, staggering, bloody thing, Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse Dead at foot of castle wall.

by Stephen Crane
 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:
"God! God! God!"
Fleetly into the plains of space
He went, ever calling,
"God! God!"
Eventually, then, he screamed,
Mad in denial,
"Ah, there is no God!"
A swift hand,
A sword from the sky,
Smote him,
And he was dead.

by Stephen Crane
 Love walked alone.
The rocks cut her tender feet, And the brambles tore her fair limbs.
There came a companion to her, But, alas, he was no help, For his name was heart's pain.

by Stephen Crane
 I met a seer.
He held in his hands The book of wisdom.
"Sir," I addressed him, "Let me read.
" "Child -- " he began.
"Sir," I said, "Think not that I am a child, For already I know much Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.
" He smiled.
Then he opened the book And held it before me.
-- Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

by Stephen Crane
 A man went before a strange God --
The God of many men, sadly wise.
And the deity thundered loudly, Fat with rage, and puffing.
"Kneel, mortal, and cringe And grovel and do homage To My Particularly Sublime Majesty.
" The man fled.
Then the man went to another God -- The God of his inner thoughts.
And this one looked at him With soft eyes Lit with infinite comprehension, And said, "My poor child!"

by Stephen Crane
 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, And ran on.

by Stephen Crane
 A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.
"

by Stephen Crane
 A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.

by Stephen Crane
 "I have heard the sunset song of the birches,
A white melody in the silence,
I have seen a quarrel of the pines.
At nightfall The little grasses have rushed by me With the wind men.
These things have I lived," quoth the maniac, "Possessing only eyes and ears.
But you -- You don green spectacles before you look at roses.
"

by Stephen Crane
 "Truth," said a traveller,
"Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
Often have I been to it,
Even to its highest tower,
From whence the world looks black.
" "Truth," said a traveller, "Is a breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom; Long have I pursued it, But never have I touched The hem of its garment.
" And I believed the second traveller; For truth was to me A breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom, And never had I touched The hem of its garment.

by Stephen Crane
 God lay dead in heaven;
Angels sang the hymn of the end;
Purple winds went moaning,
Their wings drip-dripping
With blood
That fell upon the earth.
It, groaning thing, Turned black and sank.
Then from the far caverns Of dead sins Came monsters, livid with desire.
They fought, Wrangled over the world, A morsel.
But of all sadness this was sad -- A woman's arms tried to shield The head of a sleeping man From the jaws of the final beast.

by Stephen Crane
 Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets, But the spirit grasped her arm.
"No flowers for him," he said.
The maid wept: "Ah, I loved him.
" But the spirit, grim and frowning: "No flowers for him.
" Now, this is it -- If the spirit was just, Why did the maid weep?

by Stephen Crane
 In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me: "Sir, what is this?" Then I saw that I was greater, Aye, greater than this sage.
I answered him at once, "Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age.
" The sage looked upon me with admiration.