Walt Whitman: Leaves of Grass -- Once, Paumanok,

Once, Paumanok,

When the snows had melted, and the Fifth-month

       grass was growing,

Up this sea-shore, in some briers,

Two guests from Alabama — two together,

And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with

       brown,

And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,

And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest,

       silent, with bright eyes,

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never

       disturbing them,

Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

 Shine! shine! shine!

Pour down your warmth, great Sun!

While we bask — we two together .

Two together!

Winds blow South, or winds blow North,

Day come white, or night come black,

Home, or rivers and mountains from home,

Singing all time, minding no time,

If we two but keep together .

 Till of a sudden,

May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate,

One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest,

Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next,

Nor ever appear'd again.

And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the

       sea,

And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer

       weather,

Over the hoarse surging of the sea,

Or flitting from brier to brier by day,

I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the

       he-bird,

The solitary guest from Alabama.

Blow! blow! blow!

Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore!

I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me .

 Yes, my brother, I know;

The rest might not — but I have treasur'd every

       note;

For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the

       beach gliding,

Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with

       the shadows,

Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the

       sounds and sights after their sorts,

The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,

I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,

Listen'd long and long.

Listen'd, to keep, to sing — now translating the

       notes,

Following you, my brother.

Soothe! soothe! soothe!

Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,

And again another behind, embracing and lapping,

        every one close ,

But my love soothes not me, not me .

Low hangs the moon — it rose late;

O it is lagging — O I think it is heavy with love,

        with love .

O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land .

With love — with love .

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there

        among the breakers?

What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud!

Loud I call to you, my love!

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves;

Surely you must know who is here, is here;

You must know who I am, my love .

Low-hanging moon!

What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?

O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!

O moon, do not keep her from me any longer .

Land! land! O land!

Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me

        my mate back again, if you only would;

For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way

        I look .

O rising stars!

Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise

        with some of you .