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Poem by Stephen Crane


The Way Your Little Finger Moved


AH, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God--that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved. 



Stephen Crane


Stephen Crane's other poems:
  1. Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
  2. Once a man clambering to the housetops
  3. Mystic shadow, bending near me
  4. Two or three angels
  5. Once, I knew a fine song


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