Trinckle, Drops

Walt Whitman

   TRICKLE, drops! my blue veins leaving!
   O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
   Candid, from me falling--drip, bleeding drops,
   From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd,
   From my face--from my forehead and lips,
   From my breast--from within where I was conceal'd--press forth, red 
         drops--confession drops;
   Stain every page--stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody 
         drops;
   Let them know your scarlet heat--let them glisten;
   Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet;
   Glow upon all I have written, or shall write, bleeding drops;      10
   Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

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