29. Song of Myself (Walt Whitman, 1819-1892)

Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan,
Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital,
Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

More: Song of Myself

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From Leaves of Grass, 1855 or thereabouts (Whitman published a lot of editions of this book).

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