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?