Three Songs on Poems of Walt Whitman

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.

Not heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, 
  bears lightly along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;
Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me, 
  consuming, burning for his love whom I love,
O none more than I hurring in and out;
Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? O I the same,
O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds,
  are borne through the open air,
Any more than my soul is borne through the open air,
Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.

I dream'd in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks
  of the whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream'd that was the new City of Friends,
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love -- it led the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.