Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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After the supper and talk—after the day is done,

As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging,

Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating,

(So hard for his hand to release those hands—no more will they
meet,

No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young,

A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,)

Shunning, postponing severance—seeking to ward off the last
word ever so little,

E'en at the exit-door turning—charges superfluous calling back—
e'en as he descends the steps,

Something to eke out a minute additional—shadows of nightfall
deepening,

Farewells, messages lessening—dimmer the forthgoer's visage
and form,

Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness—loth, O so loth to de-
part!

Garrulous to the very last.

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