“Remember my words, I may again return,I love you, I depart from materials,I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.”

“The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to your nevertheless,And filter and fibre your blood.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,Missing me one place, search another,I stop somewhere waiting for you.”

“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”

“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.”

“Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you/ That you may be my poem/ I whisper with my lips close to your ear/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.”

“Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,Whispering I love you, before long I die,I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you,For I could not die till I once look'd on you,For I fear'd I might afterward lose you. Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe,Return in peace to the ocean my love,I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated,Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;Be not impatient--a little space--know you I salute the air, theocean and the land,Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.”

“And now it [grass] seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves, Tenderly will I use you curling grass,It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps, And here you are the mothers' laps."- Song of Myself: 6”