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 ivhere I am, speeding- — tell me my destination.

I UNDERSTAND your angiiisli, 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 ?

A THOUSAND perfect men and women appear.

Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay children and youths, with offerings.

A MASK — a perpetual natural disguiser of herself,

Concealing her face, concealing her form.

Changes and transformations every hour, every mo- ment.

Falling upon her even when she sleeps.