solitaire

Yet, O my soul supreme!
Know’st thou the joys
of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and
lonesome heart—
the tender, gloomy heart?
Joy of the solitary walk—
the spirit bowed yet proud—
the suffering and the struggle?
The agonistic throes,
the extasies—
joys of the solemn musings, day or night?


walt whitman
leaves of grass
1900

(genjiro ito,1901;
shotei hiroaki, 1930;
toulouse-lautrec, 1892;
henri boutet 1895)