Old-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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