Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
”Will he prevail?”
”Surely,” replied this other;
”His grandfathers beat them many times.”
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.

1. If I should cast off this tattered coat
2. There was a man and a woman
3. A spirit sped
4. The successful man has thrust himself
5. The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

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