Now lift me close to your face till I whisper,
What you are holding is in reality no book, nor part
        of a book;
It is a man, flush’d and full-blooded—it is I—So long!
—We must separate awhile—Here! take from my lips
        this kiss;
Whoever you are, I give it especially to you;
So long! —And I hope we shall meet again.

Leaves of Grass


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