Calamus [In Paths Untrodden] Walt Whitman

In paths untrodden
In the growth by margins of pond-waters
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself
From all the standards hitherto publish'd, from the
Pleasures, profits, conformities
Which too long I was offering to feed my soul
Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me
That my soul
That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades
Here by myself away from the clank of the world
Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic
No longer abash'd, (for in this secluded spot I can respond
As I would not dare elsewhere,)
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet
Contains all the rest
Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly
Attachment
Projecting them along that substantial life
Bequeathing hence types of athletic love
Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my forty-first
Year
I proceed for all who are or have been young men
To tell the secret of my nights and days
To celebrate the need of comrades