* * *
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!”
Stephen Crane’s other poems:
