his dear friends, his lovers,
Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless and
    dissatisfied at night,
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d might
    secretly be indifferent to him,
Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills,
    he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men,
Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the shoulder
    of his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon him also.

} When I Heard at the Close of the Day

When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d
    with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for
    me that follow’d,
And else when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish’d, still
    I was not happy,
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,
    refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the
    morning light,
When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing bathed,
    laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way
    coming, O then I was happy,
O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food
    nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well,
And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came
    my friend,
And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly
    continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me
    whispering to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in
    the cool night,
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast—­and that night I was happy.

} Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?

Are you the new person drawn toward me? 
To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal? 
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover? 
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d satisfaction? 
Do you think I am trusty and faithful? 
Do you see no further than this facade, this smooth and tolerant
    manner of me? 
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man? 
Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?

} Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone

Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around tighter
    than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as the
    sun is risen,