Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Many workmen
Built a huge ball of masonry
Upon a mountain-top.
Then they went to the valley below,
And turned to behold their work.
”It is grand,” they said;
They loved the thing.

Of a sudden, it moved:
It came upon them swiftly;
It crushed them all to blood.
But some had opportunity to squeal.

1. Once a man clambering to the housetops
2. I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night
3. In the night
4. To the maiden
5. Tradition, thou art for suckling children

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