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grave illness, I gather up the pieces of prose and poetry left over since publishing a while since my

For some reason—not explainable or definite to my own mind, yet secretly pleasing and satisfactory to

And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!

Thee for my recitative!

Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music!

They look at me, and my eyes start out of my head; they speak to me, and I yell with de- light delight

; they touch me, and the flesh crawls off my bones.

heaven, it bears me beyond the stars, I tread upon the air, I sail upon the ether, I spread myself my

O my soul! O your soul, which is no better than my soul, and no worse, but just the same!

O my eye! 1247. These things are not in Webster's Dictionary— Unabridged, Pictorial.

Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art? . . .

son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day, One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd with

do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?

Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves.

Hither, my love! Here I am! here!

All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.

I know I am august; I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself, or be understood; I see that the

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

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

Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me; My embryo has never been torpid—nothing could

I rubbed my eyes a little to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is

I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you

my respects.

I loafe, and invite my soul; I lean and loafe at my ease— Observing a spear of Summer grass."

I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the eldest

brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers…and the women my sisters and

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

is as big to me as any, Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my

I do not press my finger across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and

Amelioration is my lesson, he says with calm voice, and progress is my lesson and the lesson of all things

I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my

own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.

What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for

"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."

"I am the teacher of Athletes; He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of

my own; He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher; The boy I love, the same

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

That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be.

A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics metaphysics of books."

I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest music to them. Vivas to those who have failed.

In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass.

To-day my soul is full of the love of the body.

"Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. ∗∗∗∗∗ While they discuss

The first doubt lodged in my mind against the claims of the Christian Church and ministry was the first

To my surprise and horror, they spent the whole time in regaling one another with smutty yarns.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

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

Leaves of Grass has been chiefly the outcropping of my own emotional and other personal nature—an attempt

day, there can be no such thing as a long poem, fascinated him: "The same thought had been haunting my

flashes of lightning, with the emotional depths it sounded and arous'd (of course, I don't mean in my

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

Good-bye, my fancy: 2 d annex to "Leaves of grass." D. McKay. por. 8º, $1.

Review of Good-bye My Fancy

"Good-Bye, my Fancy!"

'Good-bye, my Fancy!'

These brave beliefs ring almost gayly through 'An Ended Day,' 'The Pallid Wreath,' 'My 71st Year,' 'Shakespeare-Bacon's

like the arch of the full moon, nebulous, Ossianlike, but striking in its filmy vagueness. ∗ Good-Bye, my

New York "Good-Bye, my Fancy!"

The only American prophet to my knowledge who enjoys a fame in England not accorded him in his own country

, strolling tides, Companions, travelers, gossiping as they journey; And he sends it out 'partly as my

And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!

Thee for my recitative!

Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music!

or ambition to articulate and faithfully express in literary and poetic form, and uncompromisingly, my

say entirely my own way, and put it unerringly on record."

In another place the feeling of pride leads to this exclamation: "My Book and I—what a period we have

Difficult as it will be, it has become, in my opinion, imperative to achieve a shifted attitude from

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

Whitman referred to Rossetti's edition as a "horrible dismemberment of my book" in his August 12, 1871

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

"'Leaves of Grass' indeed (I cannot too often reiterate) has mainly been the outcropping of my own emotional

No one will get at my verses who insists upon viewing them as a literary performance, or as aiming mainly

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

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.

My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!

woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my

lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.

over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my

"My days I sing, and the land's:" this is the key-note.

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

That I walk up my stoop!

The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows; The air tastes good to my palate.

Good By My Fancy . 2d Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. (Philadelphia: David McKay.).

Review of Good-Bye My Fancy

Candidly and dispassionately reviewing all my intentions, I feel that they were creditable—and I accept

Or rather, to be quite exact, a desire that had been flitting through my previous life, or hovering on

feeling or ambition to articulate and faithfully express in literary or poetic form and uncompromisingly my

in a few lines, I shall only say the espousing principle of those lines so gives breath of life to my

Difficult as it will be it has become, in my opinion, imperative to achieve a shifted attitude from superior

more foolish than the rest of the volume:— "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my

The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness, after the rest, and true as any, on the

I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run-away sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it

. ∗ ∗ ∗ The successive growth-stages of my infancy, childhood, youth and manhood were all pass'd on Long

–49) and I split off with the Radicals, which led to rows with the boss and 'the party,' and I lost my

And then such lapses as these: By my great oak—sturdy, vital, green—give feet thick at the butt.

An hour or so after breakfast I wended my way down to the recesses of the aforesaid dell ∗ ∗ ∗ It was

just the place and time for my Adamic air-bath and flesh-brushing from head to foot.

Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron or my ankles with iron?

do I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you, do my

"The chief end I purpose to myself in all my labours," wrote Dean Swift, "is to vex the world rather

and flows": "This day, before dawn, I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my

And my spirit said ' No .'"

suddenly,—reservedly, with a beautiful paucity of communication, even silently, such was its effect on my

forced to remember another son of the people, Robert Burns, and one involuntarily thinks of his "O, my

Love's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my Love's like a melodie That's sweetly

(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was unreturned, Yet out of my love have I written these

hardly patience with a man who could offer the public lines like these, and call them poetry: "I tucked my

trowser-ends into my boots, and went and had a good time."

('Just now I am finishing a big volume of about 900 pages comprehending all my stuff, poems and prose

Now he writes, "Have not been out-doors for over six months—hardly out of my room, but get along better

Or in "A Carol closing Sixty-nine':— "Of me myself—the jocund heart yet beating in my breast, The body

old, poor, and paralysed—the strange inertia falling pall-like round me, The burning fires down in my

And in another passage (in the introductory essay) he says—'No one will get at my verses who insists

Bent to the very earth, here preceding what follows, Terrified with myself that I have dared to open my

whose echoes recoil upon me, I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my

And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me!

; Or rude in my home in Dakotah's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring; Or withdrawn to muse

He even dates from the United States era; in 1856, he writes: In the Year 80 of the States, My tongue

place, with my own day, here.

List close, my scholars dear!

I approached him, gave my name and reason for searching him out, and asked him if he did not find the

"Unstopp'd and unwarp'd by any influence outside the soul within me, I have had my say entirely my own

Let us quote the two poems entitled "Halcyon Days" and "Queries to my Seventieth Year."

nights—some literary meditations—books, authors examined, Carlyle, Poe, Emerson tried (always under my

cedar-tree, in the open air, and never in the library)—mostly the scenes everybody sees, but some of my

to the spring under the willows—musical as soft-clinking glasses—pouring a sizeable stream, thick as my

for the buoyant and healthy alone, but meant just as well for ailing folk:— "Who knows (I have it in my

fancy, my ambition) but the pages now ensuing may carry ray of sun, or smell of grass or corn, or call

My other item relates to one of whose merits as an author opinions differ widely.

"My days I sing, and the lands, with interstice I knew of hapless war.

My days I sing, and lands Lands —with interstice I knew of hapless war War .

Inflating my throat—you, divine average!

Open mouth of my , uttering gladness, Eyes of my , seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully

communed to- gether together Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my

Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance

That sport'st amid the lightning flash and thunder cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my

Come, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols?

For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful

O my breast aches with ten- der tender love for all!

See, my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter, Ages

I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores,

"The later years of the last century," he tells us, "found the Van Velsor family, my mother's side, living

My father's side—probably the fifth generation from the first English arrivals in New England—were at

"In February, 1873," he tells us, "I was stricken down by paralysis, gave up my desk, and emigrated to

And it is to my life here that I, perhaps, owe partial recovery (a sort of second wind, or semi-renewal

young hickory sapling out there—to sway and yield to its tough-limber upright stem—haply to get into my

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

As every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful; but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and how I was

conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy

All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.

this "After the Dazzle of Day": "After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my

eye the stars; After the clangor of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul

I could not shut my eyes to their wild, rough beauty nor close my soul to the truths they expressed.

I write simply to express my unqualified disgust with the portions I have read.

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!

Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it; I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half-

he screams to a gaping universe: "I, Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a Cosmos; I shout my

voice high and clear over the waves; I send my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."

From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the mist, From the thousand responses in my

O what is my destination? O I fear it is henceforth chaos!"

knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my

own And I know that the Spirit of God is the brother of my own And that all the men ever born are also

my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers And that a kelson of the creation is love." . . . .

Whitman's poems, though possessing individuality of their own: "Primary chief bard am I to Elphin, And my

I was with my Lord in the highest sphere, On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell; I have borne

been in Asia with Noah in the ark; I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; I have been with my

whole universe; I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth; And it is not known whether my

Echoes of camps, with all th[gap] Trooping tumultuous, all[gap] bending me powerless[gap] Entering my

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

white locks at the runaway sun; I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags."

It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life."

"Between my knees my forehead was,— My lips, drawn in, said not, Alas!

My hair was over in the grass, My naked ears heard the day pass."

"One doubt nauseous undulating like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me, Continually preceding my

and near, (rousing, even in dreams, a devilish exultation, and all the old mad joy, in the depths of my

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

the wounded person, My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.

Heat and smoke I inspired…I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their

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

"I, too, am not a bit tamed…I, too, am untransla- table untranslatable ; I sound my barbaric yawp over

One of his own countrymen (a press correspondent) thus writes of him— The only American prophet to my

He has no respect for artificial barriers to poetic inspiration:— "In my opinion the time has arrived

In my opinion, I say, while admitting that the venerable and heavenly forms of chiming versification

"Yes, my brethren, oh!

And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!

because, being a woman, and having read the uncharitable and bitter attacks upon the book, I wish to give my

There are few poems which I can read with so intense a thrill of exultation at the greatness of my destiny

A very different book is the latest collection of the poems of Walt Whitman, entitled "Good-bye, My Fancy

potentates and powers, might well be dropped in oblivion by America—but never that if I could have my

Who would suspect that this comic strain proceeded from the author of "My Study Window," and "Among my

I'm dull at prayers: I could not keep awake Counting my beads.

I love my fellow-men: the worst I know I would do good to.

Now, when storms of fate o'ercast Darkly my Present and my Past, Let my Future radiant shine With sweet

The "In Memoriam" explains itself,—the "Watchman of Ephriam," as Osee says, "was with my God."

To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose-coloured flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous

Have you learned the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, pride, freedom, friendship, of my land

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

death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed new- washed babe, and am not contained between my

hat and my boots.

I know perfectly well my own egotism.

strong in the knees, and of an inquiring and communicative disposi- tion disposition Also instructive in my