Love met me at noonday

....
And I saw him then plainly
For a bungler,
A stupid, simpering, eyeless bungler,
Breaking the hearts of brave people
....

I stumbled upon Stephen Crane's poetry relatively recently and wondered how I'd never heard of him before. Not that I've read his entire oeuvre, but so far this is my favourite of his. A very different kind of love poem to those of Pablo Neruda. Neruda's love is intoxicating, I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees; Crane's love is heartbreak and torment, He laughed and pointed to my breast, Where a heart still beat for thee, beloved.