No More Learning

Aye, but there are those
Who see you sin, my friend.



LI

A man went before a strange god,--
The god of many men, sadly wise.
And the deity thundered loudly,
Fat with rage, and puffing,
"Kneel, mortal, and cringe
"And grovel and do homage
"To my particularly sublime majesty. "

The man fled.

Then the man went to another god,--
The god of his inner thoughts.
And this one looked at him
With soft eyes
Lit with infinite comprehension,
And said, "My poor child! "



LII

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.



LIII

I

Blustering god,
Stamping across the sky
With loud swagger,
I fear you not.
No, though from your highest heaven
You plunge your spear at my heart,
I fear you not.
No, not if the blow
Is as the lightning blasting a tree,
I fear you not, puffing braggart.

II

If thou can see into my heart
That I fear thee not,
Thou wilt see why I fear thee not,
And why it is right.
So threaten not, thou, with thy bloody spears,
Else thy sublime ears shall hear curses.


III

Withal, there is one whom I fear;
I fear to see grief upon that face.
Perchance, Friend, he is not your god;
If so, spit upon him.
By it you will do no profanity.
But I--
Ah, sooner would I die
Than see tears in those eyes of my soul.



LIV

"It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
"You should live like a flower,
"Holding malice like a puppy,
"Waging war like a lambkin. "

"Not so," quoth the man
Who had no fear of spirits;
"It is only wrong for angels
"Who can live like the flowers,
"Holding malice like the puppies,
"Waging war like the lambkins. "



LV

A man toiled on a burning road,
Never resting.
Once he saw a fat, stupid ass
Grinning at him from a green place.
The man cried out in rage,
"Ah! Do not deride me, fool!
"I know you--
"All day stuffing your belly,
"Burying your heart
"In grass and tender sprouts:
"It will not suffice you. "
But the ass only grinned at him from the green place.



LVI

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.



LVII

With eye and with gesture
You say you are holy.
I say you lie;
For I did see you
Draw away your coats
From the sin upon the hands
Of a little child.
Liar!



LVIII

The sage lectured brilliantly.
Before him, two images:
"Now this one is a devil,
"And this one is me. "
He turned away.
Then a cunning pupil
Changed the positions.
Turned the sage again:
"Now this one is a devil,
"And this one is me. "
The pupils sat, all grinning,
And rejoiced in the game.
But the sage was a sage.



LIX

Walking in the sky,
A man in strange black garb
Encountered a radiant form.
Then his steps were eager;
Bowed he devoutly.
"My Lord," said he.
But the spirit knew him not.



LX

Upon the road of my life,
Passed me many fair creatures,
Clothed all in white, and radiant.
To one, finally, I made speech:
"Who art thou? "
But she, like the others,
Kept cowled her face,
And answered in haste, anxiously,
"I am Good Deed, forsooth;
"You have often seen me. "
"Not uncowled," I made reply.
And with rash and strong hand,
Though she resisted,
I drew away the veil
And gazed at the features of Vanity
She, shamefaced, went on;
And after I had mused a time,
I said of myself,
"Fool! "



LXI

I

There was a man and a woman
Who sinned.
Then did the man heap the punishment
All upon the head of her,
And went away gayly.


II

There was a man and a woman
Who sinned.
And the man stood with her.
As upon her head, so upon his,
Fell blow and blow,
And all people screaming, "Fool! "
He was a brave heart.


III

He was a brave heart.
Would you speak with him, friend?
Well, he is dead,
And there went your opportunity.
Let it be your grief
That he is dead
And your opportunity gone;
For, in that, you were a coward.



LXII

There was a man who lived a life of fire.
Even upon the fabric of time,
Where purple becomes orange
And orange purple,
This life glowed,
A dire red stain, indelible;
Yet when he was dead,
He saw that he had not lived.



LXIII

There was a great cathedral.
To solemn songs,
A white procession
Moved toward the altar.
The chief man there
Was erect, and bore himself proudly.
Yet some could see him cringe,
As in a place of danger,
Throwing frightened glances into the air,
A-start at threatening faces of the past.



LXIV

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground,
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of Justice?
Do not wait, friend
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.



LXV

Once, I knew a fine song,
--It is true, believe me,--
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, "Come back, little thoughts! "
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.



LXVI

If I should cast off this tattered coat,
And go free into the mighty sky;
If I should find nothing there
But a vast blue,
Echoless, ignorant,--
What then?



LXVII

God lay dead in Heaven;
Angels sang the hymn of the end;
Purple winds went moaning,
Their wings drip-dripping
With blood
That fell upon the earth.
It, groaning thing,
Turned black and sank.
Then from the far caverns
Of dead sins
Came monsters, livid with desire.
They fought,
Wrangled over the world,
A morsel.
But of all sadness this was sad,--
A woman's arms tried to shield
The head of a sleeping man
From the jaws of the final beast.



LXVIII

A spirit sped
Through spaces of night;
And as he sped, he called,
"God! God! "
He went through valleys
Of black death-slime,
Ever calling,
"God! God! "
Their echoes
From crevice and cavern
Mocked him:
"God! God! God! "
Fleetly into the plains of space
He went, ever calling,
"God! God! "
Eventually, then, he screamed,
Mad in denial,
"Ah, there is no God! "

A swift hand,
A sword from the sky,
Smote him,
And he was dead.






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This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
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with this eBook or online at www. gutenberg. net


Title: War is Kind

Author: Stephen Crane

Release Date: October 24, 2011 [EBook #9870]

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND ***




Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.









WAR IS KIND

by Stephen Crane

Drawings by Will Bradley

1899



Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the
regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory files above
them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his
kingdom--
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow
trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses
lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.




What says the sea, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept his message for the ships,
"Awkward ships, stupid ships. "

"The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,
"Sing low in the moonlight.
"He sends tale of the land of doom,
"Of place where endless falls
"A rain of women's tears,
"And men in grey robes--
"Men in grey robes--
"Chant the unknown pain. "

"What says the sea, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept is message for the ships,
"Puny ships, silly ships. "

"The sea bids you teach, O Pines,
"Sing low in the moonlight;
"Teach the gold of patience,
"Cry gospel of gentle hands,
"Cry a brotherhood of hearts.
"The sea bids you teach, O Pines. "

"And where is the reward, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept his message for the ships,
"Puny ships, silly ships. "

"No word says the sea, O Pines,
"No word says the sea.
"Long will your brother be silent to you,
"Keep his message for the ships,
"O puny ships, silly pines. "




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.




A little ink more or less!
It surely can't matter?
Even the sky and the opulent sea,
The plains and the hills, aloof,
Hear the uproar of all these books.
But it is only a little ink more or less.

What?
You define me God with these trinkets?
Can my misery meal on an ordered walking
Of surpliced numskulls?
And a fanfare of lights?
Or even upon the measured pulpitings
Of the familiar false and true?
Is this God?
Where, then is hell?
Show me some bastard mushrooms
Sprung from a pollution of blood.
It is better.

Where is God?




"Have you ever made a just man? "
"Oh, I have made three," answered
God,
"But two of them are dead,
"And the third--
"Listen! Listen!
"And you will hear the thud of his defeat. "




I explain the silvered passing of a ship
at night,
The sweep of each sad lost wave,
The dwindling boom of the steel thing's striving,
The little cry of a man to a man,
A shadow falling across the greyer night,
And the sinking of the small star;

Then the waste, the far waste of waters,
And the soft lashing of black waves
For long and in loneliness.

Remember, thou, O ship of love,
Thou leavest a far waste of waters,
And the soft lashing of black waves
For long and in loneliness.




"I have heard the sunset song of the
birches,
"A white melody in the silence,
"I have seen a quarrel of the pines.
"At nightfall
"The little grasses have rushed by me
"With the wind men.
"These things have I lived," quoth the
maniac,
"Possessing only eyes and ears.
"But you--
"You don green spectacles before you look at roses. "




Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
"To save my lady! "
Fast rode the knight,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Like riot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight's good banner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . . . .
A horse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.




Forth went the candid man
And spoke freely to the wind--
When he looked about him he was in a far
strange country.

Forth went the candid man
And spoke freely to the stars--
Yellow light tore sight from his eye.

"My good fool," said a learned bystander,
"Your operations are mad. "

"You are too candid," cried the candid man.
And when his stick left the head of the
learned bystander
It was two sticks.




You tell me this is God?
I tell you this is a printed list,
A burning candle and an ass.




On the desert
A silence from the moon's deepest
valley.
Fire rays fall athwart the robes
Of hooded men, squat and dumb.
Before them, a woman
Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles
And distant thunder of drums,
While mystic things, sinuous, dull with
terrible color,
Sleepily fondle her body
Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over
the sand.
The snakes whisper softly;
The whispering, whispering snakes,
Dreaming and swaying and staring,
But always whispering, softly whispering.
The wind streams from the lone reaches
Of Arabia, solemn with night,
And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood
Over the robes of the hooded men
Squat and dumb.

Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow,
Circle the throat and arms of her,
And over the sands serpents move warily
Slow, menacing and submissive,
Swinging to the whistles and drums,
The whispering, whispering snakes,
Dreaming and swaying and staring,
But always whispering, softly whispering.