I hope a few words from a young but none the less hearty admirer of your wonderful poetry will not annoy you.
It was six years ago, in a school in a quiet New England town, that I first heard
your vivid measure. Our Teacher, a lady of unusually broad education, and also an
enthusiastic lover of your writings, read aloud to us the touching
lines—"Come up from the Fields, Father." We, boys & girls were young, and
merry, but we all felt the fresh country air, and later the deep pathos, and our
teacher's voice thrilled with
loc_vm.00833_large.jpg it. It was as if a fresh, piney breeze had wafted in at the windows of that warm, busy
room. I do not think any of us moved for a moment after the poem was ended; and then
such a spontaneous, unpremeditated burst of applause, rose from girlish & boyish
hearts, and surprised our teacher. It was the outburst of admiration from honest
hearts, for something that we all felt very keenly. It was not for our teacher, nor
for Walt Whitman, but for the thrilling verses we had heard.
I think never since that hour can I read my well-worn "Leaves of Grass," without that
vague imagined scent of a piney breeze. And among all the daily increasing homage
loc_vm.00832_large.jpg which follows
you, there is none, I am sure more sincere than mine.
I cannot imagine you responding to so commonplace a request as that for an autograph; but if there is one thing I would prize, it is your name, in your (by me) well-known hand. I intend getting a copy of the original photograph from which the Scribner portrait was taken, if I find it possible. And if in all your daily making you can find time to notice this humble request, I shall have the name of the man whose writings I most admire, in his own hand, and it will be my greatest treasure.
Lizzie Westgate