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when I visited the Asylum and they showed me their most smeared and slobbering idiot, Yet I knew for my

for my consolation, of the great laws that emptied and broke my my brother s Whitman probably drafted

7 196 My touch hand will not hurt what it holds, and yet will devour it, That It must remain whole perfect

Only one minute, only two or three passing bulging sheathed touches, Yet they gather all of me and my

spirit into a knot, They hold us so long enough there, to show us what life we can be,— And that my

senses and our flesh, and even a part of flesh, is seems more than all life.— What has become of my senses

My hand will not hurt

do not procreate like men; all of them and all existing creeds grows not so much of God as I grow in my

moustache, And I am myself waiting my time to be a God; I think I h shall do as much good and be as

pure and prodigious, and do as much good as any; — And when my do, I am, do you suppose it will please

wriggles through the world mankind and hides under helmets and it is not beloved never loved or believed.— My

See in particular the lines: "The supernatural of no account . . . . myself waiting my time to be one

sings as well as I, because although she reads no newspaper; never learned the gamut; And to shake my

The first lines of the notebook poem were revised and published as "My Picture-Gallery" in The American

When painfully athwart my brain Dark thoughts come crowding on, And, sick of worldly hollowness, My heart

out upon the green I walk, Just ere the close of day, And swift I ween the sight I view Clears all my

I am with you in my soul: I shout—I strike the ball with you— With you I race and roll.— Methinks, white‑winged

(Returning to my pages' front once more, resuming all, Songs, sorrows, tragedies, with stalwart joys—O

A glance look —a flashing token of my‑ myself self—to future time.

Returning to my pages' front once

thousands, each one with his entry to himself; They are always watching with their little eyes, from my

head to my feet.

lift put the girder of the earth a globe the house away if it lay between me and whatever I wanted.— My

.— what my touch wanted any thing whatever I wanted.— Surely I am out of my head!

I am lost to myself and someth something else Nature in another form has laid down in my place.

My Soul Spirit was curious and sped back to the beginning, sped back returned to the times when the earth

eternally; And devise themselves to this spot place These States and this hour, Again But yet still my

My Spirit sped back to

.— I celebrate myself to celebrate you; every man and woman alive; I transpose my my spirit I pass as

that hear me; I am loosen the voice tongue that was tied in you them In me It begins to talk out of my

I say to my own greatness, Away!

outward" (1855, p. 51). may be related to a similar phrase in the poem eventually titled "Who Learns My

in the 1856 edition of Leaves of Grass : "The best I had done seemed to me blank and suspicious, / My

—I doubt whether who my greatest thoughts, as I had supposed them, are not shallow.

—My pride is impotent; my love gets no response.

After the dazzle of Day After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark dark night shows to my eyes the

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

In a the garden, the world, I, a new Adam, again wander, Curious, here behold my resurrection after ages

is wondrous—I am myself most wondrous, The All is I have con I exist, I peer and penetrate still, By my

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate

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

myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to receive my

levee in life,— After death Now when I am looked back upon, I will I hold levee, after death, I lean on my

left elbow—I take ten thousand lovers, one after another, by my right hand.— I have all lives, all effects

jibs appear in the offing—steamers with pennants of smoke— and under the noonday forenoon sun Where my

Where my gaze as now sweeps ocean river and bay.

.— The old house in which my father's grand parents lived, (and their parents probably before them, )

—Some of them are yet represented by descendants in New England My father's grandfather was quite a large

—My father's father I never saw.— Mother's family lived only two or three miles from West Hills—on a

—Her mother 's (my great grandmother's) maiden name was Mary Woolley, and her father Capt: Williams,

the lampblack and oil with which the canvass covering of the stage was painted, would make me.— After my

Far back, related on my mother's side, Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died; (Had been a sailor

—these his the last words—when Jenny came, he sat there dead; Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my

Still Night of Sleep—my bridal Night!

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds purer and clearer for my sake!

—What seek you do you want among my haughty and jealous democracies of the north?

woman, or my flesh and blood.

—There are my officers and my courts.—At the Capitol is my Legislature.

—It is foreign to my usages, as to my eyes and ears.—Go back to the power that sent you.

free cities, or my teeming country towns, or along my rivers, or sea shore.— 19 But why do I babble

by my children? Are to be they really failures? are they sterile, incompetent yieldings after all?

Are they not indeed to be as victorious shouts from my children?

lines 40 letters 1120 1120 letters in page of Skakspere Shakespeare 's poems 1600 letters in one of my

sauntering the pavement, 9 great are the myths, I wander all night 10 Come closer to me Who learns my

Counting the tally of the surf‑suggestions wordless utterance of these liquid tongues And To pass within my

utterance tale of subterranean toil and wrongs Unf For once Seems here C c onfided to me * To pass within my

Clean er shaved and more grammatical folks I call Mister, and lay the tips of my fingers inside their

headline in the morning papers, and pass the time as comfortably as the law allows.— But for the others, my

swear I will am can not to evade any part of myself, Not America, nor any attribute of America, Not my

body—not friendship, hospitality, procreation, Not my soul—not the last explanation of prudence, Not

.— I assume this day, the whole debt of all I take my place by right among the sudorous or sweaty men

a handsomer man with be has better finer health and cleaner shaped limbs than I, who do business in my

4 To me I subject all the teachings of the schools, and all dicta and authority, to my the tests of myself

And myself,—and I encourage you to subject the same to the tests of yourself—and to subject me and my

night walkers And do no better for me— Who am a regular gentlemen or lady, With a marble broad stoop to my

And is the day here when I vote at the polls, One with the immigrant that last August strewed lime in my

meet and drawing their love in Never losing old friends, or new ones; and finding new on every day of my

group of little children, and their ways and chatter, flow in, upon me Like welcome rippling water o'er my

Do you ask me what are my own particular dangers and complaints—what is taken that belongs to me—I complain

smoke Some vast soul, like a planet's, bound, arrested, tied, Watching the distant, shadowy sails, the My

Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee?

am that foolish half grown angry boy, fallen asleep, The tears of foolish passion yet undried upon my

and legislatures—but presently I expect to see myself in magazines, schools, and legislatures—or that my

Open your mouth gums my pardy, that I put send blow grit in you with one a breath ; Spread your palms

giving others the same chances and rights as myself— As if it were not indis‑ indispensable pensable to my

Hannah Brush, (my grandmother Whitman) had only one brother, who died a young man—(the grave-stones from

Isaac v Joseph Stephen & Jesse (my grandfather) sons of Nehemiah Whitman Phebe daughters Hannah Brush

the undulation of your one wave, its trick to me transfer W C ould you but breathe one breath upon my

But when a voice in my our hearing excuses this Fugitive damned Act, because it binds no leg and breaks

Can my your sight behold them as with oysters eyes?

Such boundless and affluent souls. . . . . . . bend your head in reverence, my man!

— Bloss Branched Le Verdure , blossom branch , fruit and vine The irregular tapping of rain off the my

not smell— —I smell the your beautiful white roses— I kiss their soft your leafy lips—I reach slide my

am a Russ, An arctic sailor traversing I traverse the sea of Kara A Kamskatkan Kamchatkan drawn on my

Poem for of of adherence to of my adherence the good old cause the "good old cause" is that in all its

Lived in Classon from May 1st '56, '7 '8 '9 Lived in Portland av. from May 1st '59 '60 '61 Sarah White, my

up before the fire, just like a man—was every way decided and masculine in behavior The tradition of my

Where day and night I wend thy surf‑beat shore, Imaging to my sense thy varied strange suggestions, Thy

.— When my little friend Tom Thumb, travelled with the circus he stood behind the stand, in a Missouri