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Fastrode the knight by Stephen Crane

Fast rode theknight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eagersword,
"To save my lady!"
Fast rode the knIght,
Andleaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Likeriot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight's goodbanner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . .
Ahorse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot ofcastle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.

Inthe desert by Stephen Crane

In thedesert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting uponthe ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
Isaid: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter -bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it isbitter,
And because it is my heart."

Donot weep, maiden, for war is kind by StephenCrane

Do not weep,maiden, for war is kind.
Because the lover threw wild hands towardthe sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
Waris kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Littlesouls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill anddie.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is theBattle-God, great, and his Kingdom -
A field wher a thousandcorpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Becauseyour father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast,gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazingflag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
Thesemen were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue ofslaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And afield where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hunghumble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Donot weep.
War is kind.

Inheaven byStephen Crane

Inheaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.
"Whatdid you do?"
Then all save one of the little blades
Beganeagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.
This one stayed asmall way behind,
Ashamed.
Presently, God said,
"Andwhat did you do?"
The little blade answered, "Oh myLord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good deeds,
Iknow not of them."
Then God, in all His splendor,
Arosefrom His throne.
"Oh, best little blade of grass!" Hesaid.

Yes,I have a thousand tongues byStephen Crane

Yes, I have athousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I striveto use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is deadin my mouth.

Oncethere came a man byStephen Crane

Once therecame a man
Who said,
"Range me all men of the world inrows."
And instantly
There was terrific clamour among thepeople
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel,world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By thosewho would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand inrows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those whostaid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.

Lovewalked alone byStephen Crane

Love walkedalone.
The rocks cut her tender feet,
And the brambles tore herfair limbs.
There came a companion to her,
But, alas, he was nohelp,
For his name was heart's pain.

Ilooked here byStephen Crane

I lookedhere;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.
And --this time --
She was in my heart.
Truly, then, I have nocomplaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none sofair as she
In my heart.

Iwas in the darkness byStephen Crane

I was in thedarkness;
I could not see my words
Nor the wishes of myheart.
Then suddenly there was a great light --

"Letme into the darkness again."

Godlay dead in heaven byStephen Crane

God lay deadin heaven;
Angels sang the hymn of the end;
Purple winds wentmoaning,
Their wings drip-dripping
With blood
That fell uponthe earth.
It, groaning thing,
Turned black and sank.
Thenfrom the far caverns
Of dead sins
Came monsters, livid withdesire.
They fought,
Wrangled over the world,
A morsel.
Butof all sadness this was sad --
A woman's arms tried to shield
Thehead of a sleeping man
From the jaws of the final beast.

Thewayfarer, byStephen Crane

Thewayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck withastonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha,"he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a longtime."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singularknife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtlessthere are other roads."

Therewas crimson clash of war. byStephen Crane

There wascrimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Womenwept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood notthese things.
He said, "Why is this?"
Whereupon amillion strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamour oftongues,
That still the reason was not.

Therewas a man who lived a life of fire byStephen Crane

There was aman who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Wherepurple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
Adire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that hehad not lived.

Behold,the grave of a wicked man by Stephen Crane

Behold, thegrave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.

Therecame a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped herarm.
"No flowers for him," he said.
The maidwept:
"Ah, I loved him."
But the spirit, grim andfrowning:
"No flowers for him."

Now, this is it--
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

Oncethere was a man byStephen Crane

Once there wasa man --
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected thebitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last hecried thus:
"There is nothing --
No life,
No joy,
Nopain --
There is nothing save opinion,
And opinion be damned."

Tothe maiden byStephen Crane

To themaiden
The sea was blue meadow,
Alive with littlefroth-people
Singing.

To the sailor, wrecked,
The seawas dead grey walls
Superlative in vacancy,
Upon whichnevertheless at fateful time
Was written
The grim hatred ofnature.

"Haveyou ever made a just man?" byStephen Crane

"Have youever made a just man?"
"Oh, I have made three,"answered God,
"But two of them are dead,
And the third--
Listen! Listen!
And you will hear the thud of his defeat."

Aman feared that he might find an assassin byStephen Crane

A man fearedthat he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find avictim.
One was more wise than the other.

Whenthe prophet, a complacent fat man, by StephenCrane

When theprophet, a complacent fat man,
Arrived at the mountain-top,
Hecried: "Woe to my knowledge!
I intended to see good whitelands
And bad black lands,
But the scene is grey."

Thesuccessful man has thrust himself byStephen Crane

The successfulman has thrust himself
Through the water of the years,
Reekingwet with mistakes --
Bloody mistakes;
Slimed with victoriesover the lesser,
A figure thankful on the shore of money.
Then,with the bones of fools
He buys silken banners
Limned with histriumphant face;
With the skins of wise men
He buys the trivialbows of all.
Flesh painted with marrow
Contributes acoverlet,
A coverlet for his contented slumber.
In guiltlessignorance, in ignorant guilt,
He delivered his secrets to theriven multitude.
"Thus I defended: Thus Iwrought."
Complacent, smiling,
He stands heavily on thedead.
Erect on a pillar of skulls
He declaims his trampling ofbabes;
Smirking, fat, dripping,
He makes speech in guiltlessignorance,
Innocence.

Therewas a man with tongue of wood by Stephen Crane

There was aman with tongue of wood
Who essayed to sing,
And in truth itwas lamentable.
But there was one who heard
The clip-clapper ofthis tongue of wood
And knew what the man
Wished to sing,
Andwith that the singer was content.

Anewspaper is a collection of half-injustices byStephen Crane

A newspaper isa collection of half-injustices
Which, bawled by boys from mile tomile,
Spreads its curious opinion
To a million merciful andsneering men,
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
Whenspurred by tale of dire lone agony.
A newspaper is a court
Whereevery one is kindly and unfairly tried
By a squalor of honestmen.
A newspaper is a market
Where wisdom sells its freedom
Andmelons are crowned by the crowd.
A newspaper is a game
Wherehis error scores the player victory
While another's skill winsdeath.
A newspaper is a symbol;
It is feckless life'schronicle,
A collection of loud tales
Concentrating eternalstupidities,
That in remote ages lived unhaltered,
Roamingthrough a fenceless world.

Aslant of sun on dull brown walls, by StephenCrane

A slant of sunon dull brown walls,
A forgotten sky of bashful blue.

TowardGod a mighty hymn,
A song of collisions and cries,
Rumblingwheels, hoof-beats, bells,
Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, finalmoans,
Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair,
The unknownappeals of brutes,
The chanting of flowers,
The screams of cuttrees,
The senseless babble of hens and wise men --
A clutteredincoherency that says at the stars:
"O God, save us!"