Gaunt Age is stalking me, with Death
Shaking his rattle close behind —
Yet scarcely have I used my breath,
Yet have my eyes been curtained blind.
The world is wide and luminous,
With cities carved in strange designs.
Soon I must sail for Singapore,
On Angkor’s towers are mystic lines.
Forests all orchid-hung and dark
The lordly Amazon cuts through;
And far beyond and high above
Rise Inca temples of Peru.
Alaska slants her shining snows,
And India burns under the sun.
All these my mortal eye would see,
All men alive are calling me;
Yet these were all too lightly won,
For I would go where none has gone
And read the riddle no man knows.
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