Leaves of Grass

  Full of life now, compact, visible,
  I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,
  To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence,
  To you yet unborn these, seeking you.

  When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
  Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
  Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade;
  Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)