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422 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.



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?



perfect men and women appear. Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay
 * children and youths, with offerings.



—a perpetual natural disguiser of herself, Concealing her face, concealing her form, Changes and transformations every hour, every moment. Falling upon her even when she sleeps.