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Poem by Stephen Crane


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A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices
Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,
Spreads its curious opinion
To a million merciful and sneering men,
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.
A newspaper is a court
Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried
By a squalor of honest men.
A newspaper is a market
Where wisdom sells its freedom
And melons are crowned by the crowd.
A newspaper is a game
Where his error scores the player victory
While anothers skill wins death.
A newspaper is a symbol;
It is feckless lifes chronicle,
A collection of loud tales
Concentrating eternal stupidities,
That in remote ages lived unhaltered,
Roaming through a fenceless world.



Stephen Crane


Stephen Crane's other poems:
  1. Tradition, thou art for suckling children
  2. I saw a man pursuing the horizon
  3. In heaven
  4. Mystic shadow, bending near me
  5. There was crimson clash of war


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