Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
”Sir,” I addressed him,
”Let me read.”
”Child -- ” he began.
”Sir,” I said,
”Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.”

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me. --
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

1. A man toiled on a burning road
2. Upon the road of my life
3. The successful man has thrust himself
4. Supposing that I should have the courage
5. I stood upon a highway

Print

1292 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version