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. A spirit sped
2. On the horizon the peaks assembled
3. "Think as I think," said a man
4. Many workmen
5. To the maiden

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