The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top
Blood - blood and torn grass -
Had marked the rise of his agony -
This lone hunter.
The grey-green woods impassive
Had watched the threshing of his limbs.
A canoe with flashing paddle,
A girl with soft searching eyes,
A call: 'John!'
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Come, arise, hunter!
Can you not hear?
The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.
More verses by Stephen Crane
- Once A Man Clambering To The Housetops
- On The Horizon The Peaks Assembled
- There Was One I Met Upon The Road
- Once, I Knew A Fine Song,
- Friend, Your White Beard Sweeps The Ground
