If it had no pencil
Would it try mine-
Worn-now-and dull-sweet,
Writing much to thee.
If it had no word,
Would it make the Daisy,
Most as big as I was,
When it plucked me?
by Walt WhitmanRECORDERS ages hence!
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior—I will tell you what to
say
of
me;
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,