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.
Kredit: Walt Whitman
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