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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.
Stephen Crane’s other poems:
