Why do you strive for greatness, fool?
Go pluck a bough and wear it.
It is as sufficing.
My Lord, there are certain barbarians
Who tilt their noses
As if the stars were flowers,
And Thy servant is lost among their shoe-buckles.
Fain would I have mine eyes even with their eyes.
Fool, go pluck a bough and wear it.
More verses by Stephen Crane
- There Was, Before Me,
- There Was A Man With Tongue Of Wood
- There Were Many Who Went In Huddled Procession
- There Was A Man And A Woman
- Many Workmen