Despairing Cries. by Walt Whitman
DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night,
The sad voice of Deathâ€”the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed,
This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,
Come tell me where I am speedingâ€”tell me my destination.
I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,
I approach, hear, beholdâ€”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, uncertainâ€”A young womanâ€™s voice appealing to me, for comfort,
A young manâ€™s voice, Shall I not escape?