Stephen Crane (1871–1900) died at age 29, as complete a success and complete a failure as he could possibly be. His first novel, “Maggie: Girl of the Streets,” was not much noticed, but his 1895 “The Red Badge of Courage” was widely discussed, and it remains a standard of something — War fiction? Young author’s energy? The romanticism of the new realism at the end of the 19th century? — to this day.

Crane also wrote poetry, as nearly every writer did in those days, and though he is never ranked as a major poet, the strange title poem of his 1899 collection “War is Kind” remains an indigestible bit of verse: a granite fragment that will not be reduced to any easy reading. Addressed to three women — who have lost, in turn, a lover, a father, and a son — the irony of calling war “kind” becomes unbearable.

War is Kind
by Stephen Crane

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 flies 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 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.

___________________________________________ 

With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.