Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the living
    sea, to you O sailors! 
Frost-mellow’d berries and Third-month twigs offer’d fresh to young
    persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open and bring
    form, color, perfume, to you,
If you become the aliment and the wet they will become flowers,
    fruits, tall branches and trees.

} Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes

Not heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly
    along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
Waited, 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.

} Trickle Drops

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,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

} City of Orgies

City of orgies, walks and joys,
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make
Not the pageants of you, not your shifting tableaus, your
    spectacles, repay me,
Not the interminable rows of your houses, nor the ships at the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows with
    goods in them,
Nor to converse with learn’d persons, or bear my share in the soiree
    or feast;
Not those, but as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift flash
    of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own—­these repay me,
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

} Behold This Swarthy Face

Behold this swarthy face, these gray eyes,
This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck,
My brown hands and the silent manner of me without charm;
Yet comes one a Manhattanese and ever at parting kisses me lightly
    on the lips with robust love,
And I on the crossing of the street or on the ship’s deck give a
    kiss in return,
We observe that salute of American comrades land and sea,
We are those two natural and nonchalant persons.