Poem 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.

1. If I should cast off this tattered coat
2. Ay, workman, make me a dream
3. A god in wrath
4. Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground
5. Two or three angels

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