Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and pond-side
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around
tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees
as the sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love scent from living shores to you on
the living sea, to you O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries and Third-month twigs offer'd fresh
to young persons wandering out in the
fields when winter breaks up,
Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open
and bring form, color, perfume to you,
If you become the ailment and the wet they will become
flowers, fruits, tall branches and trees.

-Walt Whitman