Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

1. Many red devils ran from my heart
2. I stood upon a highway
3. There was set before me a mighty hill
4. Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground
5. A slant of sun on dull brown walls

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