I stood musing in a black world Poem

I stood musing in a black world | Poem by Stephen Crane

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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!”

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In heaven Poem

In heaven | Poem by Stephen Crane

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In heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.

“What did you do?”
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.

This one stayed a small way behind,
Ashamed.

Presently, God said,
“And what did you do?”
The little blade answered, “Oh my Lord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good deeds,
I know not of them.

Then God, in all His splendor,
Arose from His throne.

“Oh, best little blade of grass!” He said.

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Behold the grave of a wicked man Poem

Behold the grave of a wicked man | Poem by Stephen Crane

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Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.

There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.

“No flowers for him,” he said.

The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.

But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.

Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

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An Autumn Rain Scene Poem

An Autumn Rain-Scene | Poem by Thomas Hardy

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There trudges one to a merry-making
With sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves on,
On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him aat all,
On whom the rain comes down.

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon Poem

I saw a man pursuing the horizon | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.

I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.

“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never -“

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

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I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day Poem

I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day | Poem by William Blake

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I rose up at the dawn of day–
`Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray’st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.

Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.

For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.

I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I’ve a wife I love, and that loves me;
I’ve all but riches bodily.

I am in God’s presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.

For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he’d pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur’d, Mr.
Devil, I won’t pray to you.

Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.

He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don’t value such things as these,
You must do, Mr.
Devil, just as God please.

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I looked here Poem

I looked here | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.

And — this time —
She was in my heart.

Truly, then, I have no complaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none so fair as she
In my heart.

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I Saw a Chapel Poem

I Saw a Chapel | Poem by William Blake

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I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.

I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc’d and forc’d and forc’d,
Down the golden hinges tore.

And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white

Vomiting his poison out
On the bread and on the wine.

So I turn’d into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.

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