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Two or three angelsCame near to the earth.They saw a fat church.Little black streams of peopleCame and went in continually.And the angels were puzzledTo know why the people went thus,And why they stayed so long within
Stephen Crane
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Tell her thisAnd more,—That the king of the seasWeeps too, old, helpless man.The bustling fatesHeap his hands with corpsesUntil he stands like a childWith surplus of toys
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When the prophet, a complacent fat man,Arrived at the mountain-topHe cried: "Woe to my knowledge!I intended to see good white landsAnd bad black lands—But the scene is grey
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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 manWho had no fear of spirits;"It is only wrong for angelsWho can live like the flowers,Holding malice like the puppies,Waging war like the lambkins
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None of them knew the color of the sky
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