From
Leaves of Grass, by
Walt Whitman:
Earth, my likeness,
Though you look so impassive,
ample and spheric there,
I now suspect that is not all;
I now suspect there is something
fierce in you eligible to burst
forth,
For an
athlete is enamour'd of me, and I of him,
But toward him there is something fierce and
terrible in me
eligible to burst forth,
I
dare not tell it in words, not even in these
songs.