Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
But no meat for men is in thee.
Then --
But, alas, we all are babes.

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

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