Poem by Stephen Crane

"Truth," said a traveller

”Truth,” said a traveller,
”Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
Often have I been to it,
Even to its highest tower,
From whence the world looks black.”

”Truth,” said a traveller,
”Is a breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom;
Long have I pursued it,
But never have I touched
The hem of its garment.”

And I believed the second traveller;
For truth was to me
A breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom,
And never had I touched
The hem of its garment.

1. Many red devils ran from my heart
2. And you love me
3. I stood upon a highway
4. There was set before me a mighty hill
5. Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground

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