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366 The triumphant tutti—the funeral wailings, with
 * sweet flutes and violins—All these I fill myself
 * with;

I hear not the volumes of sound merely—I am
 * moved by the exquisite meanings,

I listen to the different voices winding in and out,
 * striving, contending with fiery vehemence to
 * excel each other in emotion,

I do not think the performers know themselves—But
 * now I think I begin to know them.



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 recalled 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,