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Poem by Stephen Crane
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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.
Stephen Crane's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org