From: Poem of You, Whoever You Are

You have not known what you are—you have          slumbered upon yourself all your life,

Your eye-lids have been as much as closed most          of the time,

What you have done returns already in mock-          eries,

Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not          return in mockeries, what is their return?

The mockeries are not you,

Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk,

I pursue you where none else has pursued you,

Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the          night, the accustomed routine, if these con-          ceal you from others, or from yourself, they          do not conceal you from me,

The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure          complexion, if these balk others, they do          not balk me,

The pert apparel, the deformed attitude, drunken-          ness, greed, premature death, all these I part          aside,

I track through your windings and turnings—I          come upon you where you thought eye should          never come upon you.

-- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass