Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

The sage lectured brilliantly.
Before him, two images:
”Now this one is a devil,
And this one is me.”
He turned away.
Then a cunning pupil
Changed the positions.

Turned the sage again:
”Now this one is a devil,
And this one is me.”
The pupils sat, all grinning,
And rejoiced in the game.
But the sage was a sage.

1. Many red devils ran from my heart
2. Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground
3. A slant of sun on dull brown walls
4. I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night
5. And you love me

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