Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

I stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange peddlers.
To me each one made gestures,
Holding forth little images, saying,
”This is my pattern of God.
Now this is the God I prefer.”

But I said, ”Hence!
Leave me with mine own,
And take you yours away;
I can’t buy of your patterns of God,
The little gods you may rightly prefer.”

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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