Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

To the maiden
The sea was blue meadow,
Alive with little froth-people
Singing.

To the sailor, wrecked,
The sea was dead grey walls
Superlative in vacancy,
Upon which nevertheless at fateful time
Was written
The grim hatred of nature.

1. Blustering God
2. I walked in a desert
3. Many workmen
4. The trees in the garden rained flowers
5. Love walked alone

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