Classic Poem

I AM a searcher of faces,
I am a seeker of hearts
In lonely and desolate places,
In immaterial marts.


It is enough to wander
Through all the busy day;
It is enough to squander
The things we throw away.


It little matters that the things we set
Do not return in ways we recognize:
Each of us mounts in turn his Olivet
And finds, alone, Tophet or Paradise.


Only those who are lonely,
Broken and worn and sad,
These are my people only,
These will I render glad
Go let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart unwounded play;
For some must find and some must seek,
And some must roll the stone away.