Despairing Cries

Walt Whitman


   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.


   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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