The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (216 page)

XLVIII

Once there was a man, —
Oh, so wise!
In all drink
He detected the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
At last he cried thus:
“There is nothing, —
“No life,
“No joy,
“No pain, —
“There is nothing save opinion,
“And opinion be damned.”

XLIX

I stood musing in a black world,
Not knowing where to direct my feet.
And I saw the quick stream of men
Pouring ceaselessly,
Filled with eager faces,
A torrent of desire.
I called to them,
“Where do you go? What do you see?”
A thousand voices called to me.
A thousand fingers pointed.
“Look! Look! There!”
I know not of it.
But, lo! in the far sky shone a radiance
Ineffable, divine, —
A vision painted upon a pall;
And sometimes it was,
And sometimes it was not.
I hesitated.
Then from the stream
Came roaring voices,
Impatient:
“Look! Look! There!”
So again I saw,
And leaped, unhesitant,
And struggled and fumed
With outspread clutching fingers.
The hard hills tore my flesh;
The ways bit my feet.
At last I looked again.
No radiance in the far sky,
Ineffable, divine;
No vision painted upon a pall;
And always my eyes ached for the light.
Then I cried in despair,
“I see nothing! Oh, where do I go?”
The torrent turned again its faces:
“Look! Look! There!”
And at the blindness of my spirit
They screamed,
“Fool! Fool! Fool!”

L

You say you are holy,
And that
Because I have not seen you sin.
Aye, but there are those
Who see you sin, my friend.

LI

A man went before a strange god, —
The god of many men, sadly wise.
And the deity thundered loudly,
Fat with rage, and puffing,
“Kneel, mortal, and cringe
“And grovel and do homage
“To my particularly sublime majesty.”
The man fled.
Then the man went to another god, —
The god of his inner thoughts.
And this one looked at him
With soft eyes
Lit with infinite comprehension,
And said, “My poor child!”

LII

Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
Go pluck a bough and wear it.
It is as sufficing.
My lord, there are certain barbarians
Who tilt their noses
As if the stars were flowers,
And thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.
Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.
Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.

LIII

I

Blustering god,
Stamping across the sky
With loud swagger,
I fear you not.
No, though from your highest heaven
You plunge your spear at my heart,
I fear you not.
No, not if the blow
Is as the lightning blasting a tree,
I fear you not, puffing braggart.

II

If thou can see into my heart
That I fear thee not,
Thou wilt see why I fear thee not,
And why it is right.
So threaten not, thou, with thy bloody spears,
Else thy sublime ears shall hear curses.

III

Withal, there is one whom I fear;
I fear to see grief upon that face.
Perchance, Friend, he is not your god;
If so, spit upon him.
By it you will do no profanity.
But I —
Ah, sooner would I die
Than see tears in those eyes of my soul.

LIV

“It was wrong to do this,” said the angel.
“You should live like a flower,
“Holding malice like a puppy,
“Waging war like a lambkin.”
“Not so,” quoth the man
Who had no fear of spirits;
“It is only wrong for angels
“Who can live like the flowers,
“Holding malice like the puppies,
“Waging war like the lambkins.”

LV

A man toiled on a burning road,
Never resting.
Once he saw a fat, stupid ass
Grinning at him from a green place.
The man cried out in rage,
“Ah! Do not deride me, fool!
“I know you —
“All day stuffing your belly,
“Burying your heart
“In grass and tender sprouts:
“It will not suffice you.”
But the ass only grinned at him from the green place.

LVI

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.