Author Stephen Crane I HEARD thee laugh, And in this merriment I defined the measure of my pain; I knew that I was alone, Alone with love, Poor shivering love, And he, little sprite, Came to watch with me, And at midnight We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire. Tags alone fire pain love Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments