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"O my brave soul! O farther, farther sail! O daring joy, but safe!

) For that, O God—be it my latest word — here on my knees, Old, poor, and paralysed—I thank thee.

"My terminus near, The clouds already closing in upon me, The voyage balk'd, the course disputed, lost

, I yield my ships to .

"My hands, my limbs, grow nerveless; My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd; Let the old timbers part I will

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed earth!

darkness , Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking…preparations to pass to the one we had conquered, The captain

'My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite; I laugh at what you call dissolution; And I know the

, my Captain,' 'When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed.'

What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.

You shall stand by my side and look in the mirror with me.'

place with my own day here.'

though momentary view of them, and then of their course on and on southeast, till gradually fading—(my

Moreover, just as his one successful lyrical poem, "My Captain," is enough to disprove all his theories

earth, she cried—I charge you, lose not my sons!

’d; And you trees, down in your roots, to bequeath to all future trees, My dead absorb—my young men’s

coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac.

And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?

And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?

"Song of my Cid" is an epic poem of the mid-12th century and the earliest surviving work of Spanish literature

My husband, John, has been as supportive in this as in all my ventures.

It includes the metered (atypical for Whit man) "0 Captain! My Captain!"

My Captain!" appears in the Sat urdayPress. 16 NOVEMBER.

After the lecture he is presented with a bouquet of lilacs and then reads "0 Captain! My Captain!"

My Captain," 70, Mask," 109 71, 54 "Out of May's Shows Se "O d e.- By Walter Whit lected,"161 "Out of

My Captain!” and then a review of Drum-Taps.

“O Captain! My Captain!”

In 1889, he told Traubel, “It’s My Captain again: always My Cap- tain: the school readers have got along

I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the

29, 75–76, 109–10, 159–61, 195; and My Captain!”

Whitman’s famous rhymed dirge for Lincoln, “O Captain! My Captain!

my Captain!

My Captain!” An unsigned review in The Inde - pendent in 1865 mused that “O Captain!”

My Captain!,” and “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” 15.

My Captain!

My Captain!”

The copy of “O Captain! My Captain!” is dated by WW as March 9, 1887, as is a Gutekunst photograph.

My February 1. From R. Brisbane. Syracuse. Captain!” LC. CT: WWWC 4: 266–67. April(?) 19.

McIlhaney, a Captain! My Captain!”

, My Captain!”

My observations appear as footnotes.

That is not my goal; nor is it my goal to deal with, for example, the historical issues of Whitman’s,

Also, he is overly fond of O Captain! My Captain!

“O Captain! My Captain!” (Vol.

My Captain!”

When Whitman egged him to comment on “My Captain” (a poem Whitman himself several times ridiculed in

“O Captain! My Captain!”

Whitmanletsfly:“I’mhonestwhenIsay,damn‘MyCaptain’andallthe ‘My Captains’ in my book!

”thatturnedthepoetagainstit:“In some cases, as in Whitman’s ‘O Captain, My Captain,’ the high-water mark

My Captain!

I make my way, / I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable—but I love you, / I do not hurt you more than

edition of 500," he wrote to his friend William O'Connor, adding that "I could sell that number by my

My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Door-Yard Bloom'd."

And he found particular significance in the cover: "This is my design—I conceived it."

Body, set to them my name," followed by a blank space where Whitman added his signature in each copy

My Captain!"

My Captain!

Captain, 0 my Cap tain" surely one ofthe most tender and beautiful poems in any language.6 The misquotation

I sing the songfmy wallpaper, my ceiling, my floor, my doors, my windows, my around-rooms, under- and

My Captain!

My Captain!”; Whitman’s new poems in newspapers; and his essays on various topics.

My Captain!”

My Captain!” and unusual in his poetry in general.

My Captain!”

94–96; Worthington version of Leaves My Captain!

This book is dedicated to my husband, Larry, my love, my heartbeat, and my favorite dance partner. abbReviaTions

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

my colleagues.

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

My father, my uncle, my grand-uncle and the several aunts.

In the first he's the unthreaten ing, desexualized rhymster of "0 Captain! My Captain!"

We must of course have read "0 Captain! My Captain!" in school, and I must have hated it.

Moly and My Sad Captains. New York: Farrar, Straus, 1973. - - .

My Likeness!

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

Captain and all the My Captains in my book!

“I felt my life with both my hands” (Fr 357). 25.

, My Captain,” 18, Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 57, 95 233n29; “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” Wolosky, Shira, 30

puto translates from Latin to "I am a human being: I regard nothing of human concern as foreign to my

puto translates from Latin to "I am a human being: I regard nothing of human concern as foreign to my

My Captain!”).

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

I am running on my nerve, I am running on my spinal cord!

my life.

My Captain!

"So here I sit gossiping in the early candle-light of old age—I and my book—casting backward glances

over our travelled road…That I have not gained the acceptance of my own time but have fallen back on

I had my choice when I commenced.

I present my tribute, drop my bit of laurel into the still warm, firm hand of the victorious singer.

These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet, For them thy faith, thy rule, I take and grave it to

Whitman defended himself by reversing his previous commentary and writing "My Tribute to Four Poets"

mouth.—— I My eyes are bloodshot, they look down the river, A steamboat carries off paddles away my woman

beard, and reached till you held my feet."

Oh my free, proud, secure soul, where are you?"

'The moment my eyes fell on him I was content.'"

My only dread is lest my love should blind me, & my heart whisper "Tomorrow" when my reason says "Today

I write to them more to my satisfaction, through my poems.

My book is my best letter, my response, my truest explanation of all.

As to my literary situation here, my rejection by the coteries-& my poverty, (which is the least of my

Ed my nurse gets my breakfast & gets it very well.

For my love for you is hardly less than my love for my natural parent.

My Soul !

'Ve clof'led with him .... the yards entangled ...• the cannon touched, 895 My captain lashed fast with

I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain, \Ve have not struck, he composedly cried

-I put my arms around them-touch my lips to them .

my Fancy."

I saw before me, sitting on the counter, a handsome, burly man, heavily built, and not looking, to my

me as more of a man, more of a democratic man, than the tallest of Whitman's roughs; to the eye of my

love had no bounds—all that my natural fastidiousness and cautious reserve kept from others I poured

Whitman might say to him "'od's my life, Saint Thomas, I am Snug the joiner & no lion, in this poem,

I, for my part, am no believer in the sacredness of the marriage ceremony, can imagine a perfect pure

My boy, ten years old, said to me this morning, "Have you got a book with a poem in it called '0 Captain

My Captain!' I want to 234 WHITMAN IN HIS OWN TIME learn it to speak at school."

my Captain!"

"Most of my readers ne glect my prose."

My Captain!

I took my agn?

My 146 Captain!"

my lands!

My Captain!"

My Captain!

excellent companionship made my Kluge tenure one of the most generative times of my creative life.

reader, and my most fiery critic.

to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet. 142 Whitman

I had to give up my health for it—my body— the vitality of my physical self. . . . What did I get?

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial! 80 What I have I also give you.

bit of pathos—indubitably human—in my eye, confess now am I not a man and a brother?"

place, with my own day, here."

my dwell- dwelling .)"

'O the life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh.'

my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

my South!O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

My fit is mastering me!”

I put on my coat and hat.”

And I kept writing my own poetry.

My brothers and my sisters of this New World, we remember that, as Whitman said, “I do not trouble my

“You know,” she said, “I didn’t know anything about him at that time.We had read ‘O Captain, My Captain

Yours, my dear Mr.

It was the poem Whitman was "almost sorry [he] ever wrote," "0 Captain! My Captain!"

my work.

My Captain!"

11y Captain!"

at all my notions.

My crime.

All worlds are my worlds. All advances are my advances.

My Captain!”

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless, My brain feels rack’d, bewilder’d, Let the old timbers part, I will

At the bottom of the recto of the first leaf we find this passage: My Lesson my Have you learned the

to my bare-stript heart, And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

Part of my purpose in this coda to my exploration of the poet’s creative pro- cess is to take advantage

or “To the Leaven’d Soil they Trod,” Or “Captain! My Captain!”

Le Baron), mystical experience, 9, 36 165, 265n9 “Oh Captain! My Captain!”

last yawp, which (the review) you were frank enough to print in your last issue, emboldens me to speak my

Last Winter I got on skates, my first appearance before an icy audience for fifteen years.

U. is the poet of my concern, her suggestion to that effect was a strong point in favor of Mr.

s fondness for poetry doesn't at all interfere with the clearness of my café noir, the lightness of my

with my lordly prerogative.

We mean Walt Whitman's "Good-bye my Fancy."

rhythmical prejudices, will hold its own with "Crossing the Bar," or the epilogue to "Asolando": Good-bye my

going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, So good-bye my

—now separation—Good-bye my Fancy.

my Fancy. C . Review of Good-bye My Fancy

JohnRietz"My Picture-Gallery" (1880)"My Picture-Gallery" (1880)First published in The American in 1880

and incorporated into Leaves of Grass in 1881, "My Picture-Gallery" is a (revised) six-line excerpt

My Picture-Gallery," which originally served to set up the 115-line catalogue of "Pictures," is a riddle

With the catalogue of "Pictures" excised, the emphasis of "My Picture-Gallery" is shifted away from the

"My Picture-Gallery" (1880)

KarenWolfe"Good-Bye my Fancy!" (1891)"Good-Bye my Fancy!"

1891)The concluding poem of the Second Annex to the "authorized" 1891–1892 Leaves of Grass, "Good-Bye my

"Good-Bye my Fancy!"

"Good-Bye my Fancy!"

"Good-Bye my Fancy!" (1891)

And in my own day and maturity, my eyes have seen and ears heard, Lincoln, Grant and Emerson, and my

I have put my name with pen and ink with my own hand in the present volume.

I felt it all as positively then in my young days as I do now in my old ones: to formulate a poem whose

, and has been the comfort of my life since it was originally commenced.

Then the simile of my friend, John Burroughs, is entirely true.

GOOD-BYE MY FANCY. * T HERE is something at once very pathetic and courageous in this definitive leave-taking

My life and recitative . . . . . .I and my recitatives, with faith and love Waiting to other work, to

And again: Good-bye my Fancy, Farewell dear mate, dear love!

May-be it is you the mortal knot really undoing, turning— so now finally Good-bye—and hail, my Fancy.

Good-Bye My Fancy

My version of "Live Oak" differs from Parker's version in the Fourth Edition of The Norton Anthology

of American Literature (1994) , and Parker disapproves of my version, my title, and my interpretation

My essay first appeared in American Poetry Review months before The Continuing Presence came out, and

In any case, it's the later essay with my version of "Live Oak" that Parker rails against.

Parker is right in saying that I neglected to defend my choice, clearly a flaw in my essay.

I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of sum- mer summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from

stuck up, and am in my place.

Now comes a passage remarkable for its nobility: "With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums

I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

"I round and finish little, if anything; and could not, consistently with my scheme.

Whitman tells us, "Ever since what might be call'd thought, or the budding of thought, fairly began in my

I felt it all as positively then in my young days as I do now in my old ones; to formulate a poem whose

My book ought to emanate buoyancy and gladness legitimately enough, for it was grown out of those elements

, and has been the comfort of my life since it was originally commenced."

NarayanaChandran"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?" (1855)"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?"

(1855)First published without a title in Leaves of Grass (1855), "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?"

"'I' and 'You' in 'Who Learns My Lesson Complete?': Some Aspects of Whitman's Poetic Evolution."

"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?" (1855)

My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches

Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can

; No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;— I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no

man to a dinner-table, library, exchange; But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My

I cannot tell how my ankles bend . . . . nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the

To walk up my stoop is unaccountable . . . . I pause to consider if it really be.

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes

Speech is the twin of my vision . . . . it is unequal to measure itself.

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about

A line like "What think you I take my pen in hand to record?"

dear friends, my lovers.

my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

What is yours is mine, my father . . .

my likeness!

"After completing my poems," then, writes Mr.

"That I have not gain'd the acceptance of my own time; that from a worldly and business point of view

I had my choice when I commenced.

"The best comfort of the whole business is that I have had my say entirely my own way—the value thereof

No one will get at my verses who insists upon viewing them as a literary performance."

So says Walt Whitman in a foot-note to the little volume which he has just put forth ("Good-bye, my Fancy

Here is his poetical good bye:— Good-bye my Fancy! Farewell dear mate, dear love!

my Fancy.

Essentially my own printed records, all my volumes, are doubtless but offhand utterances from Personality

Indeed the whole room is a sort of result and storage collection of my own past life.

I loafe and invite my Soul, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzzed whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine

, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs

The sound of the belched words of my voice, words loosed to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses

Our poet goes on to say (105): I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or

since, after the closest inquiry, "I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones."

If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some the spread of my own body."

As for Mine, Mine has the idea of my own, and what's Mine is my own, and my own is all Mine and believes

in your and my name, the Present time. 6.

I lie in the night air in my red shirt—the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted

NarayanaChandran"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)Published as "Calamus" number 36

in the third (1860) edition of Leaves of Grass, "Earth, My Likeness" acquired its present title in 1867

"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)