Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

The wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."

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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