Walt Whitman — Leaves of Grass 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.</i.