Classic Poem

There be some that seaward roam,
Adventurers of mere and main;
They watch the wave, follow the foam.
There be those that hunt at home,
Adventurers of pain.

There be those that leave the vale,
And from the hearth-stone turn away,
Heart-homeless if their footsteps fail
Some houseless snowy height to scale,
Ere light dies with the day.

There be some would know the North,
And some would plant the desert-place:
Daily their feet are driven forth,
Their hands have measured the round earth—
Adventurers of space.

And they that hunt at home—that lie
Unhelped, alas, of near and far?
O gulfs as great gather their cry,
And hosts as fair their victory—
The seekers of the Star.

To leap to some sharp peak of pain,
To scream white-mouth'd upon those heights,
Transported by a truth made plain—
From mad despair to wrest the rein—
To delve in breathless nights

As they were mines of gold for men—
Bravely to launch on each new day
A hope, wave-racked and wrecked again—
To conquer through the fever-fen—
Toward Death to lead the way.

O, there be some that seaward roam,
Adventurers of mere and main;
They watch the wave, follow the foam.
There be those that hunt at home,
Adventurers of pain.