words by whitman

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking
- - -
And as to you, Life,
I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before
- - -
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?

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