To the maiden
The sea was blue meadow,
Alive with little froth-people
Singing.
To the sailor, wrecked,
The sea was dead grey walls
Superlative in vacancy,
Upon which nevertheless at fateful time
Was written
The grim hatred of nature.
More verses by Stephen Crane
- 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
- I Stood Upon A Highway