Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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ONCE I pass'd 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 detain'd 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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