Leaves of Grass (1860)
|
| YOU bards of ages hence! when you refer to me, mind
not so much my poems, |
| Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and
led them the way of their glories; |
| But come, I will take you down underneath this
impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say of me: |
| Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of
the tenderest lover, |
| The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his
lover, was fondest, |
| Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measure-
less ocean of love within him—and freely poured it forth, |
| Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his
dear friends, his lovers, |
| Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleep-
less and dissatisfied at night, |
| Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one
he loved might secretly be indifferent to him, |
)
|
| Whose happiest days were far away, through fields, in
woods, on hills, he and another, wandering hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men, |
| Who oft as he sauntered the streets, curved with his
arm the shoulder of his friend—while the arm of his friend rested upon him also. |