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,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?