I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC
By Walt Whitman

This is the female form;
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot;
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction!
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor—
all falls aside but myself and it; 
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth,
the atmosphere and the clouds,
and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell,
are now consumed;
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it—
the response likewise ungovernable;
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands,
all diffused—mine too diffused;
Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb—
love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching;
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous,
quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice;
Bridegroom night of love, working surely and softly
into the prostrate dawn;
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

“The profoundest thought or passion sleeps as in a mine,
until an equal mind and heart finds and publishes it.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson