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

61. 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.