A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Or 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.
WALT WHITMAN
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