Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
”Will he prevail?”
”Surely,” replied this other;
”His grandfathers beat them many times.”
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.

1. To the maiden
2. Two or three angels
3. You tell me this is God?
4. Behold, from the land of the farther suns
5. Many red devils ran from my heart

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