Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. - Walt Whitman

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself — projecting me;
O solitary me, listening — nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night,
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous’d — the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.

A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,