Centuries Hence
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.