A Glimpse
From ImmortalPoetry
Jump to navigationJump to searchby Walt Whitman.
A glimpse through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove
late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
| from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman | |
| No Labor-Saving Machine | A Leaf for Hand in Hand 
|
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