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Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

50. Behold this Swarthy Face

BEHOLD this swarthy face—these gray eyes,

This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon my neck,

My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, without charm;

Yet comes one, a Manhattanese, and ever at parting, kisses me lightly on the lips with robust love,

And I, on the crossing of the street, or on the ship’s deck, give a kiss in return;

We observe that salute of American comrades, land and sea,

We are those two natural and nonchalant persons.