Walt Whitman

Despairing Cries

1 DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my destination. 2 I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you, I approach, hear, behold—the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry, Whither I go from the bed I now recline on, come tell me; Old age, alarmed, uncertain—A young woman’s voice appealing to me, for comfort, A young man’s voice, Shall I not escape?

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