RECORDERS ages hence!
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exteriorI will tell you what to
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,
The friend, the lovers portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love within himand
pourd it forth,
Who often walkd lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers,
Who pensive, away from one he lovd, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night,
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lovd might secretly be
Whose happiest days were far away, through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another,
hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men,
Who oft as he saunterd the streets, curvd with his arm the shoulder of his
friendwhile the arm of his friend rested upon him also.