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Here it is copied from [the] volume before us:— O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain! my Captain!
Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I with mournful tread Walk the spot my Captain lies, Compare with this, for poetic or pathetic feeling
coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac.
Good-bye, my fancy: 2 d annex to "Leaves of grass." D. McKay. por. 8º, $1.
Review of Good-bye My Fancy
Good By My Fancy . 2d Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. (Philadelphia: David McKay.).
Review of Good-Bye My Fancy
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
What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side to look in the mirror with me."
I lie in the night air in my red shirt… the pervading hush is for my sake.
We close with him: the yards entangled… the masts touched: My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain— `We have not struck,' he composedly cried
"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
He rejoices to feel that he is "not stuck up and is in his [my] place," for "The moth and the fish eggs
How perfect is my soul! How perfect the earth and the minutest thing upon it!
Oh, my soul! If I realize you I have satisfaction. Laws of the earth and air!
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
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.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
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
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
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my body.'
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far swooping elbowed earth!
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
O truth of things, I am determined to press my way toward you; Sound your voice!
I exclude you; Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my
to be found in these prurient pages and how any respectable House could publish the volume is beyond my
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.
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
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
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
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.
I, the Titan, the hard-mouthed mechanic, spending my life in the hurling of words.
few pieces which are marked by the "piano-tune" quality that he derides—the true and tender lyric of "My
Captain" and the fine poem on "Ethiopia Saluting the Colors."
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
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
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
Evidently very intelligent and well-bred—very affectionate—held on to my hand, and put it to his face
"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."
"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."
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
Two prose pieces which appeared there under the titles "My Book and I" and "How I made a Book" are now
He said once to my father, 'They talk of the devil—I tell thee, Walter, there is no worse devil than
do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers?
Loud I call to you, my love!
who I am, my love.
Hither, my love! Here I am! Here!
But my love no more, no more with me! We two together no more!
are not, in any respect, worse than undetected persons— and are not in any respect worse than I am my
has yet to be known; May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) as from my
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
Sometimes I took up my quarters in the hospital, and slept or watch'd there several nights in succession
excitements and physical deprivations and lamentable sights,) and, of course, the most profound lesson of my
"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
announcing his "positive conviction that some of these birds sing and others fly and flirt about here for my
for me, blew into space a thousand cobwebs of genteel and ethical illusion, and, having thus shaken my
with a secret wish that I had not begun to read and a vow that I would never do the like again), by my
Lowell voices in the best way it can be voiced this limitation, or to my mind wrong poetic notion, in
"Behind the hill, behind the sky, Behind my inmost thought, he sings; No feet avail; to hear it nigh,
—you say in "New York;" but I had my hearing of most of those you mention elsewhere.
Sidney Morse . ∗ "Good-Bye, my Fancy!" Walt Whitman. 1891. The Second Annex to "Leaves of Grass"
Grass" will remain a real contribution to the thought of America, and some of the additional pieces, "My
Captain, O My Captain," "Song of the Banner at Daybreak," "Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking," once
philosopher's life in the quiet woodland ways, Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be my
And my heart is a handful of dust, And the wheels go over my head, And my bones are shaken with pain,
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 guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
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.
camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike . . . along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Hoeing my
gold-digging . . . girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorched ankle-deep by the hot sand . . . hauling my
I know perfectly well my own egotism. . . .
I will put in my poems, that with you is heroism, upon land and sea. . . .
On my way a moment I pause, Here for you! And here for America!
of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clear- er clearer for my sake!
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.
Phantoms welcome, divine and tender, Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions; Follow me
Perfume therefore my chant, O Love! immortal Love!
For that we live, my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
the sisters Death and Might, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world. … For my
where he lies, white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my
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
; 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