THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers,
 (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and
 joy?
 And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
 Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world--but soon I pass the
 gates,
 Now along the pond-side--now wading in a little, fearing not the wet,
 Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there,
 pick'd from the fields, have accumulated,
 (Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and
 partly cover them--Beyond these I pass,)
 Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go,
 Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the
 silence,
 Alone I had thought--yet soon a troop gathers around me, 10
 Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or
 neck,
 They, the spirits of dear friends, dead or alive--thicker they come,
 a great crowd, and I in the middle,
 Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them,
 Plucking something for tokens--tossing toward whoever is near me;
 Here! lilac, with a branch of pine,
 Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off a live-oak in
 Florida, as it hung trailing down,
 Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage,
 And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside,
 (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me--and returns again,
 never to separate from me,
 And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades--this
 Calamus-root shall, 20
 Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!)
 And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut,
 And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar:
 These, I, compass'd around by a thick cloud of spirits,
 Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from
 me,
 Indicating to each one what he shall have--giving something to each;
 But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve,
 I will give of it--but only to them that love, as I myself am capable
 of loving.