Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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ONCE I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for
future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,

Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met
there who detain'd me for love of me,

Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has
long been forgotten by me,

I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,

Again we wander, we love, we separate again,

Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,

I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.

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