The University of Virginia Edition of The Works of Stephen Crane ::

Ah, haggard purse, why ope thy mouth
Like a greedy urchin
I have nought wherewith to feed thee
Thy wan cheeks have ne'er been puffed
Thou knowest not the fill of pride
Why then gape at me
In fashion of a wronged one
Thou do smile wanly
And reproachest me with thine empty stomach
Thou knowest I'd sell my steps to the grave
If t'were but honestie.
Ha, leer not so,
Name me no names of wrongs committed with thee
No ghost can lay hand on thee and me
We've been too thin to do sin
What, liar? When thou was filled of gold, didst I riot?
And give thee no time to eat?
No, thou brown devil, thou art stuffed now with lies as with wealth,
The one gone to let in the other.

[Little birds of the night]

Little birds of the night
Aye, they have much to tell
Perching there in rows
Blinking at me with their serious eyes
Recounting of flowers they have seen and loved
Of meadows and groves of the distance
And pale sands at the foot of the sea
And breezes that fly in the leaves.
They are vast in experience
These little birds that come in the night

[A god came to a man]

A god came to a man
And said to him thus:
“I have an apple
“It is a glorious apple
“Aye, I swear by my ancestors
“Of the eternities before this eternity
“It is an apple that is from
“The inner thoughts of heaven's greatest.

“And this I will hang here
“And then I will adjust thee here
“Thus—you may reach it.
“And you must stifle your nostrils
“And control your hands
“And your eyes
“And sit for sixty years
“But,—leave be the apple.”

The man answered in this wise:
“Oh, most interesting God
“What folly is this?
“Behold, thou hast moulded my desires
“Even as thou hast moulded the apple.

“How, then?
“Can I conquer my life
“Which is thou?
“My desires?
“Look you, foolish god
“If I thrust behind me
“Sixty white years
“I am a greater god than god
“And, then, complacent splendor,
“Thou wilt see that the golden angels
“That sing pink hymns
“Around thy throne-top
“Will be lower than my feet.”

[One came from the skies]

One came from the skies
—They said—
And with a band he bound them
A man and a woman.
Now to the man
The band was gold
And to another, iron
And to the woman, iron.
But this second man,
He took his opinion and went away
But, by heavens,
He was none too wise.

[There is a grey thing that lives in the tree-tops]

There is a grey thing that lives in the tree-tops
None know the horror of its sight
Save those who meet death in the wilderness
But one is enabled to see
To see branches move at its passing
To hear at times the wail of black laughter
And to come often upon mystic places
Places where the thing has just been.

[intermingled]

intermingled,
There come in wild revelling strains
Black words, stinging
That murder flowers
The horror of profane speculation.

[A soldier, young in years, young in ambitions]

A soldier, young in years, young in ambitions
Alive as no grey-beard is alive
Laid his heart and his hopes before duty
And went staunchly into the tempest of war.
There did the bitter red winds of battle
Swirl 'gainst his youth, beat upon his ambitions,
Drink his cool clear blood of manhood
Until at coming forth time
He was alive merely as the grey-beard is alive.
And for this—
The nation rendered to him a flower
A little thing—a flower
Aye, but yet not so little
For this flower grew in the nation's heart
A wet, soft blossom
From tears of her who loved her son
Even when the black battle rages
Made his face the face of furious urchin,
And this she cherished
And finally laid it upon the breast of him.
A little thing—this flower?
No—it was the flower of duty
That inhales black smoke-clouds
And fastens its roots in bloody sod
And yet comes forth so fair, so fragrant—
Its birth is sunlight in grimest, darkest place.

[A row of thick pillars]

A row of thick pillars
Consciously bracing for the weight
Of a vanished roof
The bronze light of sunset strikes through them,
And over a floor made for slow rites.
There is no sound of singing
But, aloft, a great and terrible bird
Is watching a cur, beaten and cut,
That crawls to the cool shadows of the pillars
To die.

[Chant you loud of punishments]

Chant you loud of punishments,
Of the twisting of the heart's poor strings
Of the crash of the lightning's fierce revenge.

Then sing I of the supple-souled men
And the strong, strong gods
That shall meet in times hereafter
And the amaze of the gods
At the strength of the men.
—The strong, strong gods—
—And the supple-souled men—

[If you would seek a friend among men]

If you would seek a friend among men
Remember: they are crying their wares.
If you would ask of heaven of men
Remember: they are crying their wares.
If you seek the welfare of men
Remember: they are crying their wares.
If you would bestow a curse upon men
Remember: they are crying their wares.
Crying their wares
Crying their wares
If you seek the attention of men
Remember:
Help them or hinder them as they cry their wares.

[A lad and a maid at a curve in the stream]

A lad and a maid at a curve in the stream
And a shine of soft silken waters
Where the moon-beams fall through a hemlock's boughs
Oh, night dismal, night glorious.

A lad and a maid at the rail of a bridge
With two shadows adrift on the water
And the wind sings low in the grass on the shore.
Oh, night dismal, night glorious.

A lad and a maid in a canoe,
And a paddle making silver turmoil.

[“LEGENDS”]

[I. A man builded a bugle for the storms to blow]

A man builded a bugle for the storms to blow.

The focussed winds hurled him afar.
He said that the instrument was a failure.

[II. When the suicide arrived at the sky]

When the suicide arrived at the sky,
The people there asked him: “Why?”
He replied: “Because no one admired me.”

[III. A man said: “Thou tree!”]

A man said: “Thou tree!”
The tree answered with the same scorn: “Thou man!
Thou art greater than I only in thy possibilities.”

[IV. A warrior stood upon a peak and defied the stars]

A warrior stood upon a peak and defied the stars.
A little magpie, happening there, desired the soldier's plume,
And so plucked it.

[V. The wind that waves the blossoms]

The wind that waves the blossoms
Sang, sang, sang from age to age.
The flowers were made curious by this joy.
“Oh, wind,” they said, “why sing you at your labour,
While we, pink beneficiaries, sing not,
But idle, idle, idle from age to age?”

[Oh, a rare old wine ye brewed for me]

Oh, a rare old wine ye brewed for me
Flagons of despair
A deep deep drink of this wine of life
Flagons of despair.

Dream of riot and blood and screams
The rolling white eyes of dying men
The terrible heedless courage of babes

[Tell me not in joyous numbers]

Tell me not in joyous numbers
We can make our lives sublime
By—well, at least, not by
Dabbling much in rhyme.

[When a people reach the top of a hill]

When a people reach the top of a hill
Then does God lean toward them,
Shortens tongues, lengthens arms.
A vision of their dead comes to the weak.
The moon shall not be too old
Before the new battalions rise
—Blue battalions—
The moon shall not be too old
When the children of change shall fall
Before the new battalions
—The blue battalions—

Mistakes and virtues will be trampled deep
A church and a thief shall fall together
A sword will come at the bidding of the eyeless,
The God-led, turning only to beckon.
Swinging a creed like a censer
At the head of the new battalions
—Blue battalions—
March the tools of nature's impulse
Men born of wrong, men born of right
Men of the new battalions
—The blue battalions—

The clang of swords is Thy wisdom
The wounded make gestures like Thy Son's
The feet of mad horses is one part,
—Aye, another is the hand of a mother on the brow of a son.
Then swift as they charge through a shadow,
The men of the new battalions
—Blue battalions—
God lead them high. God lead them far
Lead them far, lead them high
These new battalions
—The blue battalions—.

[A man adrift on a slim spar]

A man adrift on a slim spar
A horizon smaller than the rim of a bottle
Tented waves rearing lashy dark points
The near whine of froth in circles.
God is cold.

The incessant raise and swing of the sea
And growl after growl of crest
The sinkings, green, seething, endless
The upheaval half-completed.
God is cold.

The seas are in the hollow of The Hand;
Oceans may be turned to a spray
Raining down through the stars
Because of a gesture of pity toward a babe.
Oceans may become grey ashes,
Die with a long moan and a roar
Amid the tumult of the fishes
And the cries of the ships,
Because The Hand beckons the mice.

A horizon smaller than a doomed assassin's cap,
Inky, surging tumults
A reeling, drunken sky and no sky
A pale hand sliding from a polished spar.
God is cold.

The puff of a coat imprisoning air.
A face kissing the water-death
A weary slow sway of a lost hand
And the sea, the moving sea, the sea.
God is cold.

[There exists the eternal fact of conflict]

There exists the eternal fact of conflict
And—next—a mere sense of locality.
Afterward we derive sustenance from the winds.
Afterward we grip upon this sense of locality.
Afterward, we become patriots.
The godly vice of patriotism makes us slaves,
And—let us surrender to this falsity
Let us be patriots

Then welcome us the practical men
Thrumming on a thousand drums
The practical men, God help us.
They cry aloud to be led to war
Ah—
They have been poltroons on a thousand fields
And the sacked sad city of New York is their record
Furious to face the Spaniard, these people, and crawling worms before their task
They name serfs and send charity in bulk to better men
They play at being free, these people of New York
Who are too well-dressed to protest against infamy.

[On the brown trail]

On the brown trail
We hear the grind of your carts
To our villages,
Laden with food
Laden with food
We know you are come to our help
But—
Why do you impress upon us
Your foreign happiness?
We know it not.
(Hark!
Carts laden with food
Laden with food)
We weep because we don't understand
But your gifts form into a yoke
The food turns into a yoke
(Hark!
Carts laden with food
Laden with food)
It is our mission to vanish
Grateful because of full mouths
Destiny—Darkness
Time understands
And ye—ye bigoted men of a moment—
—Wait—
Await your turn.

[Rumbling, buzzing, turning, whirling Wheels]

Rumbling, buzzing, turning, whirling Wheels,
Dizzy Wheels!
Wheels!

[“THE BATTLE HYMN”]

All-feeling God, hear in the war-night
The rolling voices of a nation;
Through dusky billows of darkness
See the flash, the under-light, of bared swords—
—Whirling gleams like wee shells
Deep in the streams of the universe—
Bend and see a people, O, God,
A people rebuked, accursed,
By him of the many lungs
And by him of the bruised weary war-drum
(The chanting disintegrate and the two-faced eagle)
Bend and mark our steps, O, God.
Mark well, mark well, Father of the Never-Ending Circles
And if the path, the new path, lead awry
Then in the forest of the lost standards
Suffer us to grope and bleed apace
For the wisdom is Thine.
Bend and see a people, O, God,
A people applauded, acclaimed,
By him of the raw red shoulders
The manacle-marked, the thin victim
(He lies white amid the smoking cane)
—And if the path, the new path, leads straight—
Then—O, God—then bare the great bronze arm;
Swing high the blaze of the chained stars
And let them look and heed
(The chanting distintegrate and the two-faced eagle)
For we go, we go in a lunge of a long blue corps
And—to Thee we commit our lifeless sons,
The convulsed and furious dead.
(They shall be white amid the smoking cane)
For, the seas shall not bar us;
The capped mountains shall not hold us back
We shall sweep and swarm through jungle and pool,
Then let the savage one bend his high chin
To see on his breast, the sullen glow of the death-medals

For we know and we say our gift.
His prize is death, deep doom.
(He shall be white amid the smoking cane.)

[Unwind my riddle]

Unwind my riddle.
Cruel as hawks the hours fly,
Wounded men seldom come home to die,
The hard waves see an arm flung high,
Scorn hits strong because of a lie,
Yet there exists a mystic tie.
Unwind my riddle.

[A naked woman and a dead dwarf]

A naked woman and a dead dwarf;
Wealth and indifference.
Poor dwarf!
Reigning with foolish kings
And dying mid bells and wine
Ending with a desperate comic palaver
While before thee and after thee
Endures the eternal clown—
—The eternal clown—
A naked woman.

[A grey and boiling street]

A grey and boiling street
Alive with rickety noise.
Suddenly, a hearse,
Trailed by black carriages
Takes a deliberate way
Through this chasm of commerce;
And children look eagerly
To find the misery behind the shades.
Hired men, impatient, drive with a longing
To reach quickly the grave-side, the end of solemnity.

Yes, let us have it over.
Drive, man, drive.
Flog your sleek-hided beasts,
Gallop—gallop—gallop.
Let us finish it quickly.

[Bottles and bottles and bottles]

Bottles and bottles and bottles
In a merry den
And the wan smiles of women
Untruthing license and joy.
Countless lights
Making oblique and confusing multiplication
In mirrors
And the light returns again to the faces.

A cellar, and a death-pale child.
A woman
Ministering commonly, degradedly,
Without manners.
A murmur and a silence
Or silence and a murmur
And then a finished silence.
The moon beams practically upon the cheap bed.

An hour, with its million trinkets of joy or pain,
Matters little in cellar or merry den
Since all is death.

[The patent of a lord]

The patent of a lord
And the bangle of a bandit
Make argument
Which God solves
Only after lighting more candles.

[My cross!]

My cross!

Your cross?
The real cross
Is made of pounds,
Dollars or francs.
Here I bear my palms for the silly nails
To teach the lack
—The great pain of lack—
Of coin.

University of Virginia Library

Uncollected Poems

[“I'D RATHER HAVE—”]

[Ah, haggard purse, why ope thy mouth]