Walt Whitman: Song of Myself, Part 19

Part 19

This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger, It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments     with all, I will not have a single person slighted or left away, The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited, The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited; There shall be no difference between them and the rest.
This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the     side of a rock has.
Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering     through the woods? Do I astonish more than they?
This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.