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Books by Whitman



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9.

ONCE I passed through a populous city, imprinting
my brain, for future use, with its shows, architec-
ture, customs, and traditions;
Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a woman
I casually met there, who detained me for love
of me,
Day by day and night by night we were together,—
All else has long been forgotten by me,
I remember I say only that woman who passionately
clung to me,
Again we wander—we love—we separate again,
Again she holds me by the hand—I must not go!
I see her close beside me, with silent lips, sad and
tremulous.

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