Here the Frailest Leaves of Me
Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
No Labor-Saving Machine
No labor-saving machine, Nor discovery have I made, Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America, Nor literary success nor intellect, nor book for the book-shelf, But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave, For comrades and lovers.
A Glimpse
A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of 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.
A Leaf for Hand in Hand
A leaf for hand in hand; You natural persons old and young! You on the Mississippi and on all the branches and bayous of the Mississippi! You friendly boatmen and mechanics! you roughs! You twain! and all processions moving along the streets! I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.