Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Mountain Song

I HAVE not where to lay my head:

Upon my breast no child shall lie;

For me no marriage feast is spread:

I walk alone under the sky.

My staff and scrip I cast away—

Light-burdened to the mountain height!

Climbing the rocky steep by day,

Kindling my fire against the night.

The bitter hail shall flower the peak,

The icy wind shall dry my tears.

Strong shall I be, who am but weak,

When bright Orion spears my fears.

Under the horned moon I shall rise

Up-swinging on the scarf of dawn.

The sun, searching with level eyes,

Shall take my hand and lead me on.

Wide flaming pinions veil the West—

Ah, shall I find? and shall I know?

My feet are bound upon the Quest—

Over the Great Divide I go.