Stephen Crane
Love forgive me if I wish you grief
For in your grief
You huddle to my breast
And for it
Would I pay the price of your grief
You walk among men
And all men do not surrender
And this I understand
That love reaches his hand
In mercy to me.
He had your picture in his room
A scurvy traitor picture
And he smiled
- Merely a fat complacence
Of men who know fine women -
And thus I divided with him
A part of my love
Fool, not to know that thy little shoe
Can make men weep!
- Some men weep.
I weep and I gnash
And I love the little shoe
The little, little shoe.
God give me medals
God give me loud honors
That I may strut before you, sweetheart
And be worthy of -
- The love I bear you.
Now let me crunch you
With full weight of affrighted love
I doubted you
- I doubted you -
And in this short doubting
My love grew like a genie
For my further undoing.
Beware of my Mends
Be not in speech too ņivil
For in all courtesy
My weak heart sees spectres,
Mists of desires
Arising from the lips of my chosen
Be not civil.
The flower I gave thee once
Was incident to a stride
A detail of a gesture
But search those pale petals
And see engraven thereon
A record of my intention.
This poem is public domain
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