Long I was held by the life
    that exhibits itself,
By what is one in the 
    houses or streets, or in
    company,
The usual adjustments and 
    pleasures--the things which
    all conform to and which
    the writers celebrate;
But for now I know a life
    which does not exhibit
    itself, yet contains
    all the
    rest,
And now, escaping, I celebrate
    that concealed but substantial
    life,
I celebrate the need of the love 
    of comerades.