O male and female!
O the presence of women!
(I swear there is nothing more exquisite to me
than the mere presence of women;)
O for the girl, my mate!
O for the happiness with my mate!
O for the young man as I pass!
O I am sick after the friendship of him who,
I fear, is indifferent to me.
O the streets of cities!
The flitting faces—the expressions, eyes, feet, costumes!
O I cannot tell how welcome they are to me.
(by Walt Whitman)