Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours

Walt Whitman


   YET, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also;
   Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles!
   Earth to a chamber of mourning turns--I hear the o'erweening, mocking
         voice,
   Matter is conqueror--matter, triumphant only, continues onward.


   Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me,
   The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain,
   The 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,                                           10
   Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me:
   Old age, alarm'd, uncertain--A young woman's voice, appealing to me
         for comfort;
   A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?

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