by Stephen Crane
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.