To A Stranger

      To A Stranger

                           

                       Poem by Walt Whitman

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me,l
as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate,

chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,

I ate with you, and slept with you- your body has become not yours,

only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass- you,

take of my beard, breast, hands, in return
I am not to speak to you- I am to think of you when I sit alone, or
wake at night alone

I am to wait- I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you. 10