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. A man toiled on a burning road
2. Upon the road of my life
3. The successful man has thrust himself
4. I stood upon a highway
5. Mystic shadow, bending near me

Print

1269 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version