* * *
Once I saw mountains angry, And ranged in battle-front. Against them stood a little man; Aye, he was no bigger than my finger. I laughed, and spoke to one near me, ”Will he prevail?” ”Surely,” replied this other; ”His grandfathers beat them many times.” Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers -- At least, for the little man Who stood against the mountains.
Stephen Crane’s other poems: