A GLIMPSE

By Walt Whitman

A glimpse through an interstice caught,

Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room

around the stove late of a winter night, and I

unremark’d seated in a corner,

Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently

approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold

me by the hand,

A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of

drinking and oath and smutty jest,

There we two, content, happy in being together,

speaking little, perhaps not a word.