Err...I'm afraid the only book my nose has been in today is the AP Stylebook *grin*, so I cheated and whipped out an oldie-but-a-goodie.
Any Whitman fans in the blogosphere? Show of hands, please? *looking intently around* Ahh, there you are. All the cool, baddass, readerly-and-writerly-type-people squished into the front row with your reading glasses and your awkward little ticks and your notepads. Okay, not all of you have reading glasses. I'm just projecting a little.
Anyway, since this is a poetry exerpt, I'm not going by sentences, just a few strophes:
"Recorders ages hence,
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior,
I will tell you what to say of me,
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest
lover,
The friend the lover's portraitl of whom his friend his lover was
fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean
of love within him, and freely pour'd it forth" --Recorders Ages Hence, in Leaves and Grass, by Walt Whitman
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