Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me:
"Sir, what is this?"
Then I saw that I was greater,
Aye, greater than this sage.
I answered him at once,
"Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age."
The sage looked upon me with admiration.

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. And you love me
5. Tell brave deeds of war

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