Leaves. Songs on Poems by Walt Whitman

Here the frailest leaves of [me]1, and yet my strongest-lasting:
Here I shade and hide my thoughts -- I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

O you whom I often and silently come 
  where you are that I may be with you, 
As I walk by your side or sit near,
  or remain in the same room with you, 
Little you know the subtle electric fire
  that for your sake is playing within me.

We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going - North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying - elbows stretching - fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless - eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning - sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming - air breathing, water drinking,
On the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.

Sometimes with one I love, 
I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love; 
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love -- 
the pay is certain, one way or another; 
I loved a certain person ardently, my love was not return'd; 
Yet out of that I have written these songs.

Among the men and women the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am
Some are baffled, but that one is not -- that one knows me.
A lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should discover me by so faint indirections
And when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.