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. Many red devils ran from my heart
2. A little ink more or less!
3. And you love me
4. Blustering God
5. Tell brave deeds of war

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