Poems (Kennedy)/The Seekers

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

THE SEEKER

NOT of the whip-herded ninety and nine—
 Slaves of each petty woe or weal,
 Dragged at convention's chariot wheel—
Would be this wakened, panting soul of mine.

But I would be the One who, undismayed,
 Joy-eyed with freedom, from the common press
 Went forth into the wilderness,
The One the grieving shepherd said had "strayed."

Strayed? It only wearied of the trodden way,
 The narrow grooves, the empty creeds,
 And breaking through the hedging wayside weeds
It climbed the mountain peaks to meet the day!

So would I be. Old beaten tracks, old bars,
 Old shells of faiths I'd leave below,
 And up far heights of sun and snow
I'd find a new trail to the beckoning stars!