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.