“This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,   This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,   This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.   Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?   Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the           side of a rock has.   Do you take it I would astonish?   Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering           through the woods?   Do I astonish more than they?   This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.”