Tradition, thou art for suckling children,
Thou art the enlivening milk for babes;
But no meat for men is in thee.
Then --
But, alas, we all are babes.
More verses by Stephen Crane
- There Was A Great Cathedral
- There Was A Land Where Lived No Violets
- There Came Whisperings In The Winds
- When A People Reach The Top Of A Hill,
- The Chatter Of A Death-Demon From A Tree-Top