UNWIND my riddle.
Cruel as hawks the hours fly;
Wounded men seldom come home to die;
The hard waves see an arm flung high;
Scorn hits strong because of a lie;
Yet there exists a mystic tie.
Unwind my riddle.
More verses by Stephen Crane
- Forth Went The Candid Man
- The Sins Of The Fathers
- There Was Crimson Clash Of War.
- Each Small Gleam Was A Voice
- I Met A Seer