Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

I HEARD thee laugh,
And in this merriment
I defined the measure of my pain;
I knew that I was alone,
Alone with love,
Poor shivering love,
And he, little sprite,
Came to watch with me,
And at midnight
We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire. 

1. If I should cast off this tattered coat
2. Blustering God
3. Two or three angels
4. The successful man has thrust himself
5. With eye and with gesture

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