Walt Whitman: Poems

Walt Whitman: To A Stranger

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, as of a


I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you.

All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste,


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.