From
Leaves of Grass, by
Walt Whitman:
Full of
life now,
compact,
visible,
I, forty years old the eighty-third year of
the States,
To one a
century hence or any number of centuries hence,
To you yet
unborn these, seeking you.
When you read these I that was visible am become
invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my
poems, seeking
me,
Fancying how
happy you were if I could be with you and
become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)