Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/364

356 Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless?
 * harbor his anguish and passion?

Does some stray reminder, or the casual mention of a
 * name, bring the fit back upon him, taciturn and
 * deprest?

Does he see himself reflected in me? In these hours,
 * does he see the face of his hours reflected?



bards of ages hence! when you refer to me, mind
 * not so much my poems,

Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and
 * led them the way of their glories;

But come, I will take you down underneath this
 * impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say
 * of me:

Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of
 * the tenderest lover,

The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his
 * lover, was fondest,

Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless
 * ocean of love within him—and freely poured
 * it forth,

Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his
 * dear friends, his lovers,

Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless
 * and dissatisfied at night,

Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one
 * he loved might secretly be indifferent to him, Dzhordzh (talk) 23:33, 14 April 2020 (UTC)