a poem from The Black Riders

by Stephen Crane

XLIV
Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page.
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.

also this odd one unrelated to the above:

LVI
A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.

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