Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this?"
Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamour of tongues,
That still the reason was not.

1. Mystic shadow, bending near me
2. There were many who went in huddled procession
3. When a people reach the top of a hill
4. Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
5. The impact of a dollar upon the heart

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