The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.
An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from
their temples and ribs..

. . .

In me the caresser of life wherever moving  . . . .

        “Song of Myself,” Sections 11, 13.

            Walt Whitman, Complete Poetry and Collected Prose (New York: Library of America, 1982) 198, 199.