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Anacreon's Midnight Visitor


Textual Feature Appearance
Whitman's hand blue double overline and underline
Highlighting yellow background with top and bottom border
Paste-on gray box with black borders
Laid in white box with black borders
Erasure white text with dark gray background
Overwritten brown with strikethrough
[begin surface 1] Anacreon's Midnight Visitor [begin surface 2] Ah! aim'd at me—like flash of flame Right to my very soul it came. "Thanks—and farewell," I hear him say, As, with arch laugh, he soars away; "The glow thou gav'st me, back I send, Thy books, philosophy to end, To warm thy life—to break the spell, This, this thou need'st—Thanks, and farewell!" Given to me by Walt Whitman & given by me to Mildred & Frank Bain in Montreal: 1910 Horace Traubel [begin surface 3] Tis noon of night when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll, And mortals wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away. An infant at that dreary hour, Comes weeping to my silent bower, And wakes me with a piteous prayer, To shield him from the chill, wet air. "And who art thou?" I, starting, cry, That mak'st my blissful dreams to fly?" "O gentle sir, a lonely child," The young one says, "I walk the wild, ^Soak'd Numb with the rain, while and not a ray, T'Illumes the dark, the unknown way." I hear the baby's tale of way, woe As sharp the bitter night‑winds blow, And eager to relieve his fate, Trimming my lamp, I ope the gate. [damage] is Love, the [damage]ttl[damage] mystic sprite! His pinions sparkle through the night. I know him by his bow and dart; (I know him by my fluttering heart:) I take him in—I quickly raise The smouldering embers' cheery blaze, Press from his dank and clotted hair The crystals of the freezing air, And to my inner body, hold his little fingers stiff and cold. Till but awhile rosy and warm, Supple and soft, leaving my arm, "I pr pray thee," says the cunning child (My bosom trembled as he smiled,) I pray thee let me try my bow, For through the rain I've wandered so, That much I fear the pouring shower, Has injured its elastic power." I gave assent—the bow he drew, Swift from the [damage] the arrow flew. [begin surface 4]
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