Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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AMONG the men and women the multitude,

I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,

Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother,
child, any nearer than I am,

Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah lover and perfect equal,

I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections,

And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.

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