John Addington Symonds to Walt Whitman, 7 October 1871

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 sept 7  
 1888 Oct‑ 7. 1871. My dear Sir,

When a man has ventured to dedicate his work to another without authority or permission, I think that he is bound to make confession of the liberty he has taken. This must be my excuse for sending to you the crude poem in wh.​ you may perchance detect some echo, faint & feeble, of your Calamus.—As I have put pen to paper I cannot refrain from saying that since the time when I first took up Leaves of Grass in a friend's rooms at Trinity College Cambridge six  loc.01960.002.jpg years ago till now, your poems have been my constant companions. I have read them in Italy by the shores of the Mediterranean, under pine trees or caverns washed by the sea—& in Switzerland among the alpine pastures & beside the glaciers. At home I have found in them pure air & health—the free breath of the world—when often cramped by illness & the cares of life. What one man can do  loc.01960.003.jpg by communicating to those he loves the treasure he has found, I have done among my friends.

I say this in order that I may, as simply as may be, tell you how much I owe to you. He who makes the words of a man his spiritual food for years is greatly that man's debtor.

As for the poem I send you—it is of course implicit already in your Calamus, especially in "Scented herbage of my breast."  loc.01960.004.jpg I have but set to an old tune the new divine song—: for you know that on this side of the Atlantic at least people most readily listen to old tunes. I fear greatly I have marred the purity & beauty of your thought by my bad singing.—I am an Englishman, married, with 3 children, & am aged 30.—

Answer to this I scarcely expect, as I certainly do not deserve it. The poem I send is due for reasons already set forth. It is a printer's proof at present & no more.

I am your grateful and attached John Addington Symonds  loc.01960.005.jpg