Towards democracy, стр. 95

Towards Democracy 81

At last to merge and become indistinguishable—in each one of these to merge, night and flame !—leaving out not one.

Holy! holy! holy! And lo! the crowd still standing.

And now out of all two alone.

By the curbstone, in the forefront of the crowd, a man —a nayvy—with his hands clasped in front of him on the breast of his little son!

The boy, timid, standing between his father’s feet, pressing back against his legs, with his own little hands the great hands clasping ;

The two, equal childlike, with parallel upward eyes by the flame riveted,

Their rapt unconscious demeanor, the strong likeness between them,

And the meanings, apart, which the wonderful roaring gesticulating flame in the night signifies secretly to each.

Lil

I arise and pass.

With struggles and strange exhausting birth-leapings, with long intervals of sleep,

[When it is all over, with long long sweet sleep ;]-

With the unwashed wet of birth, of love, still upon me;

With the clinging of the love of men and women, with