The Walt Whitman Archive
Published Works
Books by Whitman
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NOT HEAT FLAMES UP AND CONSUMES.
NOT heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly
along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;
Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me, consum-
ing, burning for his love whom I love,
ing, burning for his love whom I love,
O none more than I hurrying in and out;
Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? O I
the same,
the same,
O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds,
are borne through the open air,
are borne through the open air,
Any more than my soul is borne through the open air,
Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.