The Walt Whitman Archive
Published Works
Books by Whitman
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View Page 128
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View Page 128
RECORDERS AGES HENCE.
| RECORDERS ages hence! |
| Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say of me; |
| Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, |
| The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest, |
| Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measure- less ocean of love within him—and freely pour'd it forth, |
| Who often walk'd lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers, |
| Who pensive, away from one he lov'd, often lay sleep- less and dissatisfied at night, |
| Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov'd might secretly be indifferent to him, |
| Whose happiest days were far away, through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another, wandering hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men, |
| Who oft as he saunter'd the streets, curved with his arm the shoulder of his friend—while the arm of his friend rested upon him also. |