Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
But no meat for men is in thee.
Then --
But, alas, we all are babes.

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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