Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging - O I think it is heavy with love, with love. - Walt Whitman

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

Great is language . . . . it is the mightiest of the sciences,
It is the fulness and color and form and diversity of the earth . . . . and of men and women . . . . and of all qualities and processes;
It is greater than wealth . . . . it is greater than buildings or ships or religions or paintings or music.

I announce adhesiveness-I say it shall be limitless, unloosen'd;
I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.