Walt Whitman: Poems

Full of life now, compact, visible,

I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,

To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence,

To you, yet unborn, these seeking you.

When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible;

Now it is you, compact, visible, realising my poems, seeking me;

Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you, and become your loving

comrade;

Be it as if I were with you. Be not too certain but I am now with you.