Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.

1. Once a man clambering to the housetops
2. Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
3. You tell me this is God?
4. There came whisperings in the winds
5. I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night

Print

1119 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version