Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

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. Behold, from the land of the farther suns
2. I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night
3. Once a man clambering to the housetops
4. In the night
5. To the maiden

Print

1116 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version