O thou who knock'st within the vale of sleep,O wanderer—whither dost thy footsteps creep?
Art thou among us near, or dost thou dwellFar off above the mountain peaks as well?
O near one, hid in veils of sleep,O far one, in a closeness deep—
Art thou among the living still,Or numbered with the graves that fill?
O knocker: we are from an age long past,The cup of trial for us was turned at last,
And beauty's veil became the shroud instead,Torn by the hands of time as we lay dead.
Stripped bare is all that once was clad,Defiled is all that once was glad,
Since we reclined withinThe hollow graves' dark inn.
O knocker, why hath night grown long and drear,In darkness that no dawn shall ever clear?
Behold events upon the sandy plainHave opened wide their gates without refrain,
In longing that burns fierce and wild,In hunger keen, desire compiled—
Awaiting who from mortal men shall near!
I heard just now a voice that called and cried,Obscure as melody that drifts and died,
Whispering like doubt that seems to overpower,Chirping like birds that soar and sing the hour,
Above the river's stream,Or boughs where branches gleam,
Beneath the morning light or moon's soft beam.O voice that summonest the realm of death,
What dost thou seek from this decaying breath?From bodies resting safe and still below,
In graves that dark and desolate secrets show?The dwellers spoke such words,
Or mourners fed them—heardFrom tears like pearls that down the cheek occurred.
O friend and neighbour in this narrow space,We've had our fill of nights and days' embrace,
Its bitter cup revealed destruction's scar—A raging lion's fang—what caused this war?
They cast their stones—and we decayed,We withered since their stones were laid,
That turbid river grewToo narrow to pass through!
Now tell me truly, O my friend, I pray:Where are my people? Where my kin today?
Where are my comrades and the road's allies?I left them all to pleasure's liberties.
I know not if they stayedOr were like light dispersed and frayed,
As radiance gathered, then in shards arrayed!Where is my palace? Where my lands and halls?
Where is my mother, broken heart that falls?Where are my brothers, purity and cheer?
Where are my hopes and happy times so dear?Where are all riches stored?
The wildernesses hoard,Or time entombed what burial records!
Where are my soldiers, strong and faithful band?Where are my helpers and my loyal hand?
Where are my riches? Vanished into air,Erased completely after we were there.
By fate's decree they perished,After they flourished, cherished—
And here we'll stay, lamenting what has vanished!
O dweller here who seek'st to judge our state,The matter's lost on thee—now hear our fate:
Here we shall live, when we have grieved this earth,Without distinction—none of greater worth,
In dreams and gloom entwined,In graves and images enshrined—
All men are equal, and pride's boast resigned!How strange this vainglorious pretender's art,
That mocks the wealthy and the rich in heart!My soldiers, bind this fool with iron chain,
And make him taste my torment while alive with pain!He scoffs at us in scorn,
He knows not I was nobly born—I am this cosmos' best, mankind's foremost class!
Where are thy servants, O thou mighty king?Where those who followed thee in everything?
Where those who heard thy whispered word and creed?Their company forsook thee when thou didst proceed.
Thou art in the hereafter—beware,Contend not, nor show pride or glare—
Thou art in a mean grave, crumbled beyond repair!Thy pardon, comprehensive—I've forgot
I did not know that I was stricken, caughtIn this new death, and folded up the vast
Confusion scattered like debris amassed.A wandering lost to me
From folly's company—All things forsook me, comrades waiting to be free!
Restrain thy tears, and breathe relief from pain,Forget the glory and the might thou didst retain,
Leave off complaint—for it avails thee naughtAfter thou hast farewell to life's courts brought.
We are the children of the tombs,We warm ourselves till resurrection comes,
Those hidden vaults and graves wherein we loom.
When shall we leave these graves wherein we lie?Or when be raised on resurrection's day?
How did we die? How came we to the dust?And equalled guard and prince in death's adjust?
Sunrise or setting of the sun,Morning or afternoon begun—
Dawn broke, and with it dawn-chill's breath came on!O friend, I know not what the answer is,
Nor what the secret of this torment's kiss,Since we traversed the wilderness's caves,
Beneath this rock, within the dust of graves.I know not what affair
Was placed within this lair—This was by judgment and by fate's decree laid there!
Dost thou not know an answer to my quest?O friend of good, or snare of error's nest,
We have remained here midst the shifting sand,Seeking what we have lost in time's far land.
Hast thou perchance discerned the sign,Hast thou perchance learned the design
What clears doubt's veil, or makes the tidings burn?
I know not in death's realm who after meHas died, or who assumed authority.
We all weep and complain of this our time,Which nearly drives us mad with scorn sublime.
We all weep for our woe,We all life's burden show—
Perhaps we are captives of this fate we know!
Perhaps we are captives of this stillness deep,Or death's victims, or the Lord of death's own keep.
Passionate night's dark billows cast us here,And we forgot among those cosmos drear.
We left—we shall not turn againToward eternity’s gates, nor strain—
And tears from our eyes in streams return!
Here is the mortal world's abiding-place,Here is the ancient ones' primordial space,
And God of all—the arbiter supreme—Masters the earth, that corpses may redeem.
And whether one defiedOr in devotion's pride,
All equal are in fate's procession's tide.Tell us when bodies are destroyed and gone,
We ask—there is no choice—we must press on—Of sins beyond all count at reckoning's hour,
When neither wealth nor children grant their power,Nor armies, nor their marshalled might,
Nor scourge, nor fury of the fight—Save whom a mighty Lord delivers from the night.
O friend, among the tomb-inscriptions' fold,Art thou a Jew, or art thou Magian old?
Long separation and grim night oppress,In darkness that the sun cannot redress.
And I search all alone,In yearning unbefriended, prone—
For hope of heart, for inspiration's tone.
Ask not what my religion may contain,My faith is faith of all the world's domain.
Yet I was tortured through the years gone by,And met with woe in every pass awry.
Yet I did not renounce my creed,Nor doubt the truth that I concede—
Alas, my soul, revive not this demesne!
O friend of time, O best of friends to me,Still I press onward on this road's decree,
And terror's herald in each narrow way.My heart beat for it—what a beating!—say,
It showed me in this lifeClothed in the robe of death's sharp knife—
Woe for its earnings, and O length of strife!
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