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The door that admits good news and bad news,
The door whence the son left home, confident and
puffed lip,
The door he entered again from a long and scandalous
absence, diseased, broken down, without
innocence, without means.

31. Their shapes arise, above all the rest—the shapes of
full-sized men,
Men taciturn yet loving, used to the open air, and the
manners of the open air,
Saying their ardor in native forms, saying the old
response,
Take what I have then, (saying fain,) take the pay
you approached for,
Take the white tears of my blood, if that is what you
are after.

32. Her shape arises,
She, less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than
ever,
The gross and soiled she moves among do not make
her gross and soiled,
She knows the thoughts as she passes—nothing is
concealed from her,
She is none the less considerate or friendly therefore,
She is the best-beloved—it is without exception—
she has no reason to fear, and she does not fear,
Oaths, quarrels, hiccupped songs, proposals, smutty
expressions, are idle to her as she passes,
She is silent—she is possessed of herself—they do
not offend her,