This moment yearning and thoughtful sitting alone,
It seems to me there are other men in distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as my land is to me,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Young men in all cities, yearning and thoughtful, talking other dialects.
It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful, benevolent, as any in my own lands,
And it seems to me if I could know those men I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my own lands,
And it may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
O I know we should be brethren and lovers, with gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands,
I know I should be happy with them.

My spirit has pass’d in compassion around the whole earth,
I have look’d for equals and lovers and found them ready for me in all lands,
I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them.
It’s wonderful how true it is that a man can’t go anywhere without taking himself along and without finding love meeting him more than half way,
It makes the big world littler—it knits all the fragments together,
It makes the little world bigger—it expands the arc of comradery.

O soul, what love than thine and ours could wider amplify?
I am in love with all my fellows upon the earth,
So I am not content now with a mere majority,
I must have the love of all men and women,
If there be one left in any country who has not faith in me, I will travel to that country, and go to that one—
I am not uneasy but I am to be beloved by young and old, and to love them the same. 

I hear the persuasions of lovers,
Swinging and chirping over my head,
Coming naked to me at night,
Crying, Ahoy, from the rocks of the river,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Or while I swim in the bath, or drink from the pump at the corner,
Or I glimpse at a woman’s face in the railroad car.

Lovers, continual lovers, only these repay me,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
My lovers suffocate me, jostling me through streets and public halls,
Lighting on every moment of my life the light touches, on my lips, of the lips of my comrades,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine.
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to the contact of them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

I can repeat over to men and women,
You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you.
Oh, the ties between me and them,
None but shall be dear to me,
I will return after death to be with them.

When I am looked back upon, I will hold levee,
I lean on my left elbow,
I take ten thousand lovers, one after another, by my right hand,
Loving the clasp of their hands, the touch of their necks and breasts, and the sound of their voice—
Who is there that is not touched on the lips with a kiss?

Push close my lovers and take the best I possess,
Yield closer and closer and give me the best you possess,
Give me comrades and lovers by the thousand,
The thousand responses of my heart, chaste and electric torrents, never to cease.

NEXT: LOVING STRANGERS IN THE CITY

The texts in this anthology should NOT be cited as direct quotations from Whitman. If you want to quote from this site for something you are writing or posting, please read this first (click here).