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

The Wanderer

THE SHIPS are lying in the bay,

The gulls are swinging round their spars;

My soul as eagerly as they

Desires the margin of the stars.

So much do I love wandering,

So much I love the sea and sky,

That it will be a piteous thing

In one small grave to lie.