The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest,

Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love within him—and freely poured it

forth,

Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers,

Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night,

Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he loved 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 sauntered the streets, curved with his arm the shoulder of his friend—while the arm of his friend rested upon him also.

W

MEETING AGAIN.

HEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been received with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that followed;

And else, when I caroused, or when my plans were accom

plished, still I was not happy.

But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refreshed, 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 wandered 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 nourished me more—and the beautiful day passed 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.

A DREAM.

F him I love day and night, I dreamed I heard he was dead;

And I dreamed I went where they had buried him I love —but he was not in that place;

And I dreamed I wandered, searching among burial

places, to find him;

And I found that every place was a burial-place;

The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now ;)

The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead as of the living,

And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living.

—And what I dreamed I will henceforth tell to every person and age,

And I stand henceforth bound to what I dreamed;

And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and dispense with them;

And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently

everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep I should be satisfied;

And if the

corpse of any one

I love, or if my own corpse,

be duly rendered to powder, and poured in the sea, I shall be satisfied;

Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.

PARTING FRIENDS.

HAT think

WHA

you I take my pen in hand to record?

The battle-ship, perfect-modelled, majestic, that I saw pass the offing to-day under full sail?

The splendours of the past day? Or the splendour of the night that envelopes me?

Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around me ?—No;

But I record of two simple men I saw to-day, on the pier, in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends;

The one to remain hung on the other's neck, and passionately kissed him,

While the one to depart tightly pressed the one to remain in his arms.

PASSIN

TO A STRANGER.

ASSING 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 you. 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,

I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

OTHER LANDS.

HIS moment yearning and thoughtful, sitting alone, It seems to me there are other men in other lands, yearning and thoughtful;