And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall I perfume be for the grave of him I love?
Sea-winds blown from east and west,
blown from the Eastern sea and blown for the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting,
these and with these and the breath of my chant,
I'll perfume the grave of him I love."
"When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd" X, Walt Whitman,1865
Y luego dirán que los poemas de Whitman no son homoeróticos...