Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/384

376 Doubtless I could not have perceived the universe,
 * or written one of my poems, if I had not freely
 * given myself to comrades, to love.

shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seeking
 * a livelihood, chattering, chaffering.

How often I find myself standing and looking at it
 * where it flits.

How often I question and doubt whether that is really
 * me;

But in these, and among my lovers, and carolling my
 * songs,

I never doubt whether that is really me.

the men and women, the multitude, I perceive
 * one picking me out by secret and divine
 * signs.

Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband,
 * brother, child, any nearer than I am;

Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one
 * knows me.

Lover and perfect equal! I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint
 * indirections,

And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the
 * like in you.