Crane's poetry has a kind of steely, vivid, precise voice. And it is uncompromisingly cold and bleak. Not cold and bleak in a wistful, romantic ruins, Edgar Alan Poe, recite it and the goth girls may swoon for you kind of way. Cold and bleak like an operating theatre. It is bitter, but I like it. Not to everyone's tastes.
Looking through that online collection, I discover that he wrote one hell of a love poem.
Should the wide world roll away,Fierce.
Leaving black terror,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.