Despairing Cries

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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?

© Walt Whitman