Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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O DROPS of me! trickle, slow drops,

Candid, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops,

From wounds made to free you whence you were
prisoned,

From my face—from my forehead and lips,

From my breast—from within where I was con-
cealed—Press forth, red drops—confession
drops,

Stain every page—stain every song I sing, every
word I say, bloody drops,

Let them know your scarlet heat—let them glisten,

Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet,

Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleed-
ing drops,

Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

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