Poem by Stephen Crane

* * *

Behold, from the land of the farther suns
I returned.
And I was in a reptile-swarming place,
Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces,
Shrouded above in black impenetrableness.
I shrank, loathing,
Sick with it.
And I said to him,
"What is this?"
He made answer slowly,
"Spirit, this is a world;
This was your home."

1. To the maiden
2. Places among the stars
3. A slant of sun on dull brown walls
4. You tell me this is God?
5. A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices

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