Now I'll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God:
It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in Harlem
having masturbated for no love, and read half naked an open book of Blake
           on my lap
Lo & behold! I was thoughtless and turned a page and gazed on the living
           Sun-flower
and heard a voice, it was Blake's, reciting in earthen measure:
the voice rose out of the page to my secret ear never heard before-
I lifted my eyes to the window, red walls of buildings flashed outside, endless 
           sky sad Eternity
sunlight gazing on the world, apartments of Harlem standing in the uni
           verse—
each brick and cornice stained with intelligence like a vast living face--
the great brain unfolding and brooding in wilderness!—Now speaking aloud 
       with Blake's voice—
Love! thou patient presence & bone of the body! Father! thy careful watch
           ing and waiting over my soul!
My son! My son! the endless ages have remembered me! My son! My son!
           Time howled in anguish in my ear!
My son! My son! my father wept and held me in his dead arms.