A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

Not that I always struck the proper mean

Of what mankind must give for what they gain,

But, when I think of those whom dull routine

And the pursuit of cheerless toil enchain,

Who from their desk-chairs seeing a summer cloud

Race through blue heaven on its joyful course

Sigh sometimes for a life less cramped and bowed,

I think I might have done a great deal worse;

For I have ever gone untied and free,

The stars and my high thoughts for company;

Wet with the salt-spray and the mountain showers,

I have had the sense of space and amplitude,

And love in many places, silver-shoed,

Has come and scattered all my path with flowers.

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