Poem 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.

1. Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
2. Mystic shadow, bending near me
3. Two or three angels
4. Once, I knew a fine song
5. There were many who went in huddled procession

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