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
- To The Maiden
- The Livid Lightnings Flashed In The Clouds
- There Was A Man Who Lived A Life Of Fire
- You Say You Are Holy,
- God Fashioned The Ship Of The World