Search Results

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.

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

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

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!"

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

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"

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. An Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. 8vo, pp. 66.

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

"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."

('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

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.

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."

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

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

People who know absolutely nothing of his writing, either prose or verse, who have not read even "O Captain

, My Captain," do not hesitate to assail him, to excoriate him, to blackguard him with a vehemence which

I will also want my utterances to be in spirit poems of the morning.

I have wished to put the complete union of the states in my songs without any preference or partiality

Then the simile of my friend, John Burroughs, is entirely true, 'his glove is a glove of silk, but the

import of his first book ("without yielding an inch, the working-man and working-woman were to be in my

. * "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.

its Dantesque horror, and then, brooding over brotherhood, union, democracy, sang 'Leaves of Grass,' 'My

Captain,' 'Calamus,' and all that me quoque which forms the essential germ of the Whitman gospel: egotism

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.

"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."

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

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

"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"

the army hospitals, and his noble tribute to Lincoln (not so tender as the really rhythmic verses "My

Captain"), are things for young Americans to study.

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

Whatever may be said for the genius that created the peculiar style of (and, for my part, I think a great

Yet it would be wrong not to correct my criticism about Whitman's style by pointing out that there are

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

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

my Captain! our fearful trip is done.

Leave you not the little spot Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!

my Captain! rise up and hear the bells! Rise up!

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 silent trade, Walk the spot my Captain lies, In this and in "President Lincoln's Funeral

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 says "no one will get at my verses who insists upon viewing them as a literary performance, or

After celebrating and singing himself, he continues: "I loafe, and invite my soul."

'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

"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

language: "As I have looked over the proof-sheets of the preceding pages, I have once or twice feared that my

here—said: "Only that while I can't answer them at all, I feel more settled than ever to adhere to my

past—that I have always invoked that future, and surrounded myself with it, before or while singing my

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!

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

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

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.

barefooted every few minutes now and then in some neighboring black ooze, for unctuous mud- baths to my

. ∗ ∗ ∗ 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.

Y.) and My Life on It as Child and Young Man…Printing Office—Old Brooklyn…Lafayette…Broadway Sights…My

I have been exercised deeply about it my whole life.)

Again he was ask'd to yield, this time by a rebel captain.

The rebel captain then shot him—but at the same instant he shot the captain.

From today I enter upon my 64th year.

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

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."

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

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

His text is—and it is a stalwart text: "I stand in my place, with my own day, here!" II.

"I resist anything better than my own diversity," he says.

Clifford in his essay on "Cosmic Emotion:" "I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled far-

"My sun has his sun, and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior

Hence from my shuddering sight to never more return that Show of blacken'd mutilated corpses!

my Captain!

O the bleeding drops of red, 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 deck my Captain lies, The most prejudiced will not deny that that

He explains his inspiration thus: Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It

He explains the limit of his happiness: I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To

touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand .

Whenever he does this he writes lines that will live—notably, his "O Captain, my Captain," inspired by