Classic Poem

Where art thou?
I see thee not,
Not before me, not behind me;
I look at all, but thou art not.
When my song is done
I go, I go to find our enemy.
Is it to find the dead?
When thou hearest that I am dead, thine eyes will flow;
They will pour down their tears.
Then thou within thy heart will say,
Thou will say it with thy mouth:
" Ah, I was not with him in death. "
Thou moreover will say:
" Why did I descend by the rivers;
Why did I not sign with him?
Why did I not stand by his side?
Why was I not there to die with him? "
I hearken, what is there to sing; behind me,
" Do not go, Oh, do not go. "
Hear not the voice that would stop me,
I go to the sands of the plains.
My song is my own, which I'll sing for you.
Women of my people;
When you are cutting skins,
When you take the awl and the sinew,
Intent on sewing the shoes,
Be your thought afar on those that are away.
When ye enter the forests for wood and the solitudes sing with you,
Think voices of the trees and the rocks are echoes of my song.
Let thoughts of thee make me steadfast;
Let thoughts of the women of my people
Find speech and strength in my limbs
That I may not fatigue:
Nor be weary
Nor be left behind,
In days of war.