English poem
Xxxiv
by Stephen Crane (1871–1900)
I stood upon a highway, And, behold, there came Many strange pedlers. To me each one made gestures. Holding forth little images, saying, "This is my pattern of God. "Now this is the God I prefer."
But I said, "Hence! "Leave me with mine own, "And take you yours away; "I can’t buy of your patterns of God, "The little Gods you may rightly prefer."