The triumphant tutti — the funeral wailings, with

sweet flutes and violins — All these I fill myself with ;

I hear not the volumes of sound merely — I am moved by the exquisite meanings,

I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving, contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion,

I do not think the performers know themselves —

But now I think I begin to know them.

PASSING stranger ! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,

(It comes to me, as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with

All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured.

You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,

I ate with you, and slept with you — your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass — you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,

I am not to speak to you — I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,