Monday, October 03, 2005

To a Stranger By Walt Whitman, from Leaves of Grass

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.

5 comments:

Luis said...

:o)

Anonymous said...

Luis,

That is lovely :-)

Luis said...

Oh Nagg! I'm glad you like it!!! Can I be your Nell?

Anonymous said...

Any day... let's share a can this time, though. It was lonely in separate bins on stage.

Anonymous said...

Ok, if you insist, Ergo, I'll trade itch for scratch - though it ruins the muted and lame wit of my comment - if you'll exchange discrete for discreet. Tit for tat? I know what a tit is, but what exactly is a tat?