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Walt Whitman - Trickle, Drops
Work rating: Low

TRICKLE, drops! my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were prison`d,
From my face—from my forehead and lips,
From my breast—from within where I was conceal`d—press forth, red 
         drops—confession drops;
Stain every page—stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody 
         drops;
Let them know your scarlet heat—let them glisten;
Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet;
Glow upon all I have written, or shall write, bleeding drops;      
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.
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