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Poem by Stephen Crane


* * *


I stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange peddlers.
To me each one made gestures,
Holding forth little images, saying,
This is my pattern of God.
Now this is the God I prefer.

But I said, Hence!
Leave me with mine own,
And take you yours away;
I cant buy of your patterns of God,
The little gods you may rightly prefer.



Stephen Crane


Stephen Crane's other poems:
  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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