5.Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest
upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus, merely touching you, is enough—is best.
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be
carried eternally.
6.But these leaves conning, you con at peril,
For these leaves, and me, you will not understand.
They will elude you at first, and still more afterward
—I will certainly elude you.
Even while you should think you had unquestionably
caught me, behold!
Already you see I have escaped from you.
7.For it is not for what I have put into it that have
written this book.
Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it.
Nor do those know me best who admire me, and
vauntingly praise me,
Nor will the candidates for my love, (unless at most a
very few,) prove victorious.
Nor will my poems do good only—they will do just
as much evil, perhaps more.
For all is useless without that which you may guess
at many times and not hit—that which I
hinted at.
Therefore release me, and depart on your way.
