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
dream).
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you.
All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste,
matured;
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.