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.

From: LEAVES OF GRASS by Walt Whitman

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