By Walt Whitman
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the
moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it grew
there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending,
lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wonder’d how it could
utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friend near, for I knew I
could not,
And I broke off a twig with a
certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I
have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me
as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think
of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious
token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the
live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its
life without a friend a lover near,
I know very well I could
not.
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