In Paths Untrodden

   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, eruditions, 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, feeds, rejoices most 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,                                          10
   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.