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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane
+#6 in our series by Stephen Crane
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: War is Kind
+
+Author: Stephen Crane
+
+Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9870]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 26, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND ***
+
+
+
+
+
+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.
+The dignity of the accursed;
+The glory of slavery, despair, death,
+Is in the dance of the whispering snakes.
+
+
+
+
+A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices
+Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,
+Spreads its curious opinion
+To a million merciful and sneering men,
+While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
+When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.
+A newspaper is a court
+Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried
+By a squalor of honest men.
+A newspaper is a market
+Where wisdom sells its freedom
+And melons are crowned by the crowd.
+A newspaper is a game
+Where his error scores the player victory
+While another's skill wins death.
+A newspaper is a symbol;
+It is fetless life's chronical,
+A collection of loud tales
+Concentrating eternal stupidities,
+That in remote ages lived unhaltered,
+Roaming through a fenceless world.
+
+
+
+
+The wayfarer,
+Perceiving the pathway to truth,
+Was struck with astonishment.
+It was thickly grown with weeds.
+"Ha," he said,
+"I see that none has passed here
+"In a long time."
+Later he saw that each weed
+Was a singular knife.
+"Well," he mumbled at last,
+"Doubtless there are other roads."
+
+
+
+
+A slant of sun on dull brown walls,
+A forgotten sky of bashful blue.
+
+Toward God a mighty hymn,
+A song of collisions and cries,
+Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells,
+Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, final moans,
+Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair,
+The unknown appeals of brutes,
+The chanting of flowers,
+The screams of cut trees,
+The senseless babble of hens and wise men--
+A cluttered incoherency that says at the
+    stars;
+"O God, save us!"
+
+
+
+
+Once a man clambering to the housetops
+Appealed to the heavens.
+With a strong voice he called to the deaf
+    spheres;
+A warrior's shout he raised to the suns.
+Lo, at last, there was a dot on the clouds,
+And--at last and at last--
+--God--the sky was filled with armies.
+
+
+
+
+There was a man with tongue of wood
+Who essayed to sing,
+And in truth it was lamentable.
+But there was one who heard
+The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood
+And knew what the man
+Wished to sing,
+And with that the singer was content.
+
+
+
+
+The successful man has thrust himself
+Through the water of the years,
+Reeking wet with mistakes,--
+Bloody mistakes;
+Slimed with victories over the lesser,
+A figure thankful on the shore of money.
+Then, with the bones of fools
+He buys silken banners
+Limned with his triumphant face;
+With the skins of wise men
+He buys the trivial bows of all.
+Flesh painted with marrow
+Contributes a coverlet,
+A coverlet for his contented slumber.
+In guiltless ignorance, in ignorant guilt,
+He delivered his secrets to the riven multitude.
+  "Thus I defended: Thus I wrought."
+Complacent, smiling,
+He stands heavily on the dead.
+Erect on a pillar of skulls
+He declaims his trampling of babes;
+Smirking, fat, dripping,
+He makes speech in guiltless ignorance,
+Innocence.
+
+
+
+
+In the night
+Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
+And the peaks looked toward God alone.
+   "O Master that movest the wind with a
+     finger,
+   "Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
+   "Grant that we may run swiftly across
+      the world
+   "To huddle in worship at Thy feet."
+
+In the morning
+A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
+And the little black cities were apparent.
+   "O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
+   "Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
+   "Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
+   "That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun."
+In the evening
+The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
+  "O Master,
+  "Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
+  "Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks.
+  "Thous only needest eternal patience;
+  "We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord--
+  "Humble, idle, futile peaks."
+
+In the night
+Grey heavy clouds muffles the valleys,
+And the peaks looked toward God alone.
+
+
+
+The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.
+
+Blood--blood and torn grass--
+Had marked the rise of his agony--
+This lone hunter.
+The grey-green woods impassive
+Had watched the threshing of his limbs.
+
+A canoe with flashing paddle,
+A girl with soft searching eyes,
+A call: "John!"
+.    .    .    .    .    .    .
+Come, arise, hunter!
+Can you not hear?
+
+The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-
+   top.
+
+
+
+The impact of a dollar upon the heart
+    Smiles warm red light,
+Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the
+    white table,
+With the hanging cool velvet shadows
+Moving softly upon the door.
+
+The impact of a million dollars
+Is a crash of flunkys,
+And yawning emblems of Persia
+Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre,
+The outcry of old beauty
+Whored by pimping merchants
+To submission before wine and chatter.
+Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men,
+Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light
+Into their woof, their lives;
+The rug of an honest bear
+Under the feet of a cryptic slave
+Who speaks always of baubles,
+Forgetting state, multitude, work, and state,
+Champing and mouthing of hats,
+Making ratful squeak of hats,
+Hats.
+
+
+
+A man said to the universe:
+   "Sir, I exist!"
+"However," replied the universe,
+"The fact has not created in me
+"A sense of obligation."
+
+
+
+When the prophet, a complacent fat
+   man,
+Arrived at the mountain-top,
+He cried: "Woe to my knowledge!
+"I intended to see good white lands
+"And bad black lands,
+"But the scene is grey."
+
+
+
+There was a land where lived no
+  violets.
+A traveller at once demanded: "Why?"
+The people told him:
+"Once the violets of this place spoke thus:
+"'Until some woman freely give her lover
+"'To another woman
+"'We will fight in bloody scuffle.'"
+Sadly the people added:
+"There are no violets here."
+
+
+
+There was one I met upon the road
+Who looked at me with kind eyes.
+He said: "Show me of your wares."
+And I did,
+Holding forth one,
+He said: "It is a sin."
+Then I held forth another.
+He said: "It is a sin."
+Then I held forth another.
+He said: "It is a sin."
+And so to the end.
+Always He said: "It is a sin."
+At last, I cried out:
+"But I have non other."
+He looked at me
+With kinder eyes.
+"Poor soul," he said.
+
+
+
+Aye, workman, make me a dream,
+A dream for my love.
+Cunningly weave sunlight,
+Breezes, and flowers.
+Let it be of the cloth of meadows.
+And--good workman--
+And let there be a man walking thereon.
+
+
+
+Each small gleam was a voice,
+A lantern voice--
+In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
+A chorus of colors came over the water;
+The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
+No pines crooned on the hills,
+The blue night was elsewhere a silence,
+When the chorus of colors came over the
+     water,
+Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
+
+Small glowing pebbles
+Thrown on the dark plane of evening
+Sing good ballads of God
+And eternity, with soul's rest.
+Little priests, little holy fathers,
+None can doubt the truth of hour hymning.
+When the marvellous chorus comes over the
+     water,
+Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
+
+
+
+The trees in the garden rained flowers.
+Children ran there joyously.
+They gathered the flowers
+Each to himself.
+Now there were some
+Who gathered great heaps--
+Having opportunity and skill--
+Until, behold, only chance blossoms
+Remained for the feeble.
+Then a little spindling tutor
+Ran importantly to the father, crying:
+"Pray, come hither!
+"See this unjust thing in your garden!"
+But when the father had surveyed,
+He admonished the tutor:
+"Not so, small sage!
+"This thing is just.
+"For, look you,
+"Are not they who possess the flowers
+"Stronger, bolder, shrewder
+"Than they who have none?
+"Why should the strong--
+"The beautiful strong--
+"Why should they not have the flowers?
+
+Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the
+     ground.
+"My lord," he said,
+"The stars are displaced
+"By this towering wisdom."
+
+
+
+
+INTRIGUE
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art the peace of sundown
+When the blue shadows soothe,
+And the grasses and the leaves sleep
+To the song of the little brooks,
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a strorm
+That breaks black in the sky,
+And, sweeping headlong,
+Drenches and cowers each tree,
+And at the panting end
+There is no sound
+Save the melancholy cry of a single owl--
+Woe is me!
+
+Thou are my love,
+And thou art a tinsel thing,
+And I in my play
+Broke thee easily,
+And from the little fragments
+Arose my long sorrow--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a wary violet,
+Drooping from sun-caresses,
+Answering mine carelessly--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art the ashes of other men's love,
+And I bury my face in these ashes,
+And I love them--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art the beard
+On another man's face--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a temple,
+And in this temple is an altar,
+And on this altar is my heart--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a wretch.
+Let these sacred love-lies choke thee,
+From I am come to where I know your lies
+   as truth
+And you truth as lies--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a priestess,
+And in they hand is a bloody dagger,
+And my doom comes to me surely--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art a skull with ruby eyes,
+And I love thee--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And I doubt thee.
+And if peace came with thy murder
+Then would I murder--
+Woe is me.
+
+Thou art my love,
+And thou art death,
+Aye, thou art death
+Black and yet black,
+But I love thee,
+I love thee--
+Woe, welcome woe, to me.
+
+
+
+
+Love, forgive me if I wish you grief,
+For in your grief
+You huddle to my breast,
+And for it
+Would I pay the price of your grief.
+
+You walk among men
+And all men do not surrender,
+And thus I understand
+That love reaches his hand
+In mercy to me.
+
+He had your picture in his room,
+A scurvy traitor picture,
+And he smiled
+--Merely a fat complacence of men who
+   know fine women--
+And thus I divided with him
+A part of my love.
+
+Fool, not to know that thy little shoe
+Can make men weep!
+--Some men weep.
+I weep and I gnash,
+And I love the little shoe,
+The little, little shoe.
+
+God give me medals,
+God give me loud honors,
+That I may strut before you, sweetheart,
+And be worthy of--
+The love I bear you.
+
+Now let me crunch you
+With full weight of affrighted love.
+I doubted you
+--I doubted you--
+And in this short doubting
+My love grew like a genie
+For my further undoing.
+
+Beware of my friends,
+Be not in speech too civil,
+For in all courtesy
+My weak heart sees spectres,
+Mists of desire
+Arising from the lips of my chosen;
+Be not civil.
+
+The flower I gave thee once
+Was incident to a stride,
+A detail of a gesture,
+But search those pale petals
+And see engraven thereon
+A record of my intention.
+
+
+
+
+Ah, God, the way your little finger moved,
+As you thrust a bare arm backward
+And made play with your hair
+And a comb, a silly gilt comb
+--Ah, God--that I should suffer
+Because of the way a little finger moved.
+
+
+
+
+Once I saw thee idly rocking
+--Idly rocking--
+And chattering girlishly to other girls,
+Bell-voiced, happy,
+Careless with the stout heart of unscarred
+    womanhood,
+And life to thee was all light melody.
+I thought of the great storms of love as I
+    knew it,
+Torn, miserable, and ashamed of my open
+    sorrow,
+I thought of the thunders that lived in my
+    head,
+And I wish to be an ogre,
+And hale and haul my beloved to a castle,
+And make her mourn with my mourning.
+
+
+
+
+Tell me why, behind thee,
+I see always the shadow of another lover?
+Is it real,
+Or is this the thrice damned memory of a
+     better happiness?
+Plague on him if he be dead,
+Plague on him if he be alive--
+A swinish numskull
+To intrude his shade
+Always between me and my peace!
+
+
+
+
+And yet I have seen thee happy with me.
+I am no fool
+To poll stupidly into iron.
+I have heard your quick breaths
+And seen your arms writhe toward me;
+At those times
+--God help us--
+I was impelled to be a grand knight,
+And swagger and snap my fingers,
+And explain my mind finely.
+Oh, lost sweetheart,
+I would that I had not been a grand knight.
+I said: "Sweetheart."
+Thou said'st: "Sweetheart."
+And we preserved an admirable mimicry
+Without heeding the drip of the blood
+From my heart.
+
+
+
+
+I heard thee laugh,
+And in this merriment
+I defined the measure of my pain;
+I knew that I was alone,
+Alone with love,
+Poor shivering love,
+And he, little sprite,
+Came to watch with me,
+And at midnight,
+We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire.
+
+
+
+
+I wonder if sometimes in the dusk,
+When the brave lights that gild thy
+   evenings
+Have not yet been touched with flame,
+I wonder if sometimes in the dusk
+Thou rememberest a time,
+A time when thou loved me
+And our love was to thee thy all?
+Is the memory rubbish now?
+An old gown
+Worn in an age of other fashions?
+Woe is me, oh, lost one,
+For that love is now to me
+A supernal dream,
+White, white, white with many suns.
+
+
+
+
+Love met me at noonday,
+--Reckless imp,
+To leave his shaded nights
+And brave the glare,--
+And I saw him then plainly
+For a bungler,
+A stupid, simpering, eyeless bungler,
+Breaking the hearts of brave people
+As the snivelling idiot-boy cracks his bowl,
+And I cursed him,
+Cursed him to and fro, back and forth,
+Into all the silly mazes of his mind,
+But in the end
+He laughed and pointed to my breast,
+Where a heart still beat for thee, beloved.
+
+
+
+
+I have seen thy face aflame
+For love of me,
+Thy fair arms go mad,
+Thy lips tremble and mutter and rave.
+And--surely--
+This should leave a man content?
+Thou lovest not me now,
+But thou didst love me,
+And in loving me once
+Thou gavest me an eternal privilege,
+For I can think of thee.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War is Kind, by Stephen Crane
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR IS KIND ***
+
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