From
Leaves of Grass, by
Walt Whitman:
Passing
stranger! you do not know how longingly I look
upon you,
You must be he I was
seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes
to me as of a
dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a
life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we
flit by each other,
fluid, affectionate,
chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with
me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not
yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass,
you take of my
beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit
alone or wake at night
alone,
I am to wait, I do not
doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.