Not Heat Flames Up And Consumes

Walt Whitman

   NOT heat flames up and consumes,
   Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
   Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears
         lightly 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, consuming,
         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;
   O nor down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high, rain-emitting clouds,
         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.         10

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