A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a barroom around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremarked 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.
ATTRIBUTION:
Walt Whitman (18191892), U.S. poet. A Glimpse (l. 16). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.