It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil; I am he who knew what it was to be evil; I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, Blabbed, blushed, resented, lied, stole, grudged; Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak; Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant; The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me; The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting; Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting. But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud! I was called by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing, Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat; Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never told them a word; Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping; Played the part that still looks back on the actor or actress, The same old rôle, the rôle that is what we make it,--as great as we like, Or as small as we like, or both great and small. Closer yet I approach you: What thought you have of me, I had as much of you-- I laid in my stores in advance; I considered long and seriously of you before you were born. Who was to know what should come home to me? Who knows but I am enjoying this? Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me? It is not you alone, nor I alone; Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few centuries; It is that each came or comes or shall come from its due emission, without fail, either now or then or henceforth. Everything indicates--the smallest does, and the largest does; A necessary film envelops all, and envelops the Soul for a proper time. Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast-hemmed Manhatta, My river and sunset, and my scallop-edged waves of flood-tide; The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter; Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach; Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face, Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you. We understand, then, do we not? What I promised without mentioning it have you not accepted? What the study could not teach--what the preaching could not accomplish, is accomplished, is it not? What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not? 4.