“Sun so generous it shall be you, Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you, You sweaty brooks and dew it shall be you, Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you, Broad muscular fields, branches of liveoak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you, Hands I have taken, face I have kissed, mortal I have ever touched, it shall be you." Robert stopped, and surveyed her face. Waiting, Lavender supposed, for a response. "The passage strikes me as amorous and carnal, Sir. The parlor grows cold. We need more fire." She rose quickly and scratched around with kindling and sticks Arlo Snook had, in his habitual way, stacked neatly by the fireplace. The task allowed her to turn away from Robert, for in truth, Whitman's words unsettled her, their anatomy parts she'd heard only in ladies' physical education at Cobourg Academy.” EffectiveErotic PoetryWalt WhitmanSong Of Myself Book:The Apothecary's Garden Source: The Apothecary's Garden
“Lavender's thoughts returned to the poetry, and Robert reading it, canting, rich-toned, about hands, kisses. It shall be you. Having no smelling salts nearby, Lavender moved matters to a more pragmatic realm. "I must warm the tea," she told Robert. For the pot had sat, untouched, for some time, and had surely cooled. (In the kitchen, she loosened her collar, to alleviate her overheated state, to avoid becoming a sweaty brook.)” EffectivenessWalt WhitmanSong Of Myself Book:The Apothecary's Garden Source: The Apothecary's Garden
“She drank the rest of the tea, still reeling from Whitman's words. Then the harp began to play---lustily, with stirring effect, seeming to fancy itself an entire symphony---"Ode to Joy.” Magical RealismWalt WhitmanSong Of MyselfErotic PoemOde To JoyHarp Music Book:The Apothecary's Garden Source: The Apothecary's Garden