A Glimpse

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by 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.


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