| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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| 53. Wanderers |
| | | By George Sylvester Viereck |
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| SWEET is the highroad when the skylarks call, | |
| When we and Love go rambling through the land. | |
| But shall we still walk gayly, hand in hand, | |
| At the road’s turning and the twilight’s fall? | |
| Then darkness shall divide us like a wall, | 5 |
| And uncouth evil nightbirds flap their wings; | |
| The solitude of all created things | |
| Will creep upon us shuddering like a pall. | |
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| This is the knowledge I have wrung from pain: | |
| We, yea, all lovers, are not one, but twain, | 10 |
| Each by strange wisps to strange abysses drawn; | |
| But through the black immensity of night | |
| Love’s little lantern, like a glowworm’s, bright, | |
| May lead our steps to some stupendous dawn. | |
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