The ploughman
Turns homeward with his plough. I hear its slow creaking.
It is the time when women bring water from the wells.
It is night.—What am I?
What am I doing? For what do I wait?
And I answer, "I do not know!"
And in my heart there is a wild desire
To weep or to cry aloud
Or to laugh or leap in the air and wave my arms!
"Who am I?"