Why do they ask me, "Is it thou?"
Nay, nay, I know of nothing;
No one has told me aught, yet all are afraid of me,
The stones upon the road shrink from my footsteps,
But I am wearier far than if I had trodden them,
I am always left alone, and yet I hear voices always;
My sleep is never disturbed, and yet I feel
As though I had never slept.
Know ye why I am weary, so very weary,
That if the grave should say to me, "Lie down