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YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS. |
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Leaves of grass (1872) | ||
YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS.
1
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.
2
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me,The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain,
67
Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my destination.
3
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 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?
Leaves of grass (1872) | ||