A man new-born confronting things unknown.
I turn my face towards the Future and the lowering arch of the sky. My soul is full of weariness!
I know nothing. There is nothing I can do. What shall I say? What shall I do?
How shall I use these hands that hang at my sides, these feet
That bear me about as in a dream?
Speech is but a noise and books are only paper.
There is no one here but myself. And all that is about me,
The foggy air, the rich fields,
The trees, the low-lying clouds
Seem to speak to me, soundlessly, to ask inarticulate questions.