Poem by Stephen Crane

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Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
Go pluck a bough and wear it.
It is as sufficing.

My Lord, there are certain barbarians
Who tilt their noses
As if the stars were flowers,
And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.
Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.

Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.

1. If I should cast off this tattered coat
2. There was a man and a woman
3. A man toiled on a burning road
4. Tell brave deeds of war
5. A spirit sped

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