Stephen Crane





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 storm  
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 art 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 weary 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  
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth   
And your truth as lies -  
Woe is me. 

Thou art my love  
And thou art a priestess  
And in thy 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 my 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.