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As I know you would like to hear from me, my dear friend, I will not yet go to bed—but sit down to write
to you, that I have been here in Boston, to-day is a fortnight, and that my book is well under way.
I was going to put into the book—just took me to the stereotype foundry, and given orders to follow my
It will be out in a month—a great relief to me to have the thing off my mind.
I send my love to Helen and Emmy. Walt. Walt Whitman to Abby H. Price, 29 March 1860
, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prisoned, From my
face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was con- cealed concealed —Press
subject that offers itself—making a compact, the-whole-surrounding, National Poem , after its sort, after my
especially with the literary classes, to make it worth your while to give them a sight of me with all my
I reserve the use of the piece in any collection of my poems I may publish in future.
Should my name be printed in the programme of contributors at any time it must not be lower down than
SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves
O blossoms of my blood!
O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers—I think it must be for Death, For
Grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the concealed heart there!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabbed
paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-colored light, From my
my brother or my sister! Keep on!
Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it, I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half-
beget superb children, To speak readily and clearly—to feel at home among common people, And to hold my
Let me have my own way, Let others promulge the laws—I will make no ac- count account of the laws, Let
charged against me, half as bad as the evil I really am; I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my
friends, but listen to my enemies—as I my- self myself do; I charge you, too, forever, reject those
Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affec- tions affections ? Are you he?
doned abandoned ; Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself any further—Let go your hand from my
it, Nor do those know me best who admire me, and vauntingly praise me, Nor will the candidates for my
love, (unless at most a very few,) prove victorious, Nor will my poems do good only—they will do just
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
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly
over my shoulder, The hill-side whitened with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late in autumn—the
pressed and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my
and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all colored, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my
greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my
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
But I take back my promise. For if you are not sane what will writing avail?
It is a waste of breath for my friend to tell me I am healthy when my pulse records the circumstance
Saturday Press, New York, Mch March 27 18 60 My dear Walt: I am so busy that I hardly have time to breathe
This must explain my not answering yr your letter promptly.
I could if necessary give my note at three mos for the amount and it is a good note since we have never
to whom I am an entire stranger will do anything of the kind: but in suggesting it, I have done only my
My Dear Walt Through the stupidity of Lewis I did not receive the dispatch until late in the afternoon
I went directly to my frame makers, the frame will be done to-morrow, (it is a beauty) and if you wish
It is my wish it should be seen in Boston. Let me know how you propose to introduce it.
I were nothing, From what I am determined to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men, From my
The oath of the inseparableness of two together—of the woman that loves me, and whom I love more than my
, (To talk to the perfect girl who understands me—the girl of The States, To waft to her these from my
own lips—to effuse them from my own body;) From privacy—From frequent repinings alone, From plenty of
the right person not near, From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting of fingers through my
when you refer to me, mind not so much my poems, Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and
I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say of me: Publish my
name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom
MY spirit to yours, dear brother, Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you
I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;) I specify you with joy, O my
divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever united lands—my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more than
my lands are inevitably united, and made one identity, Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my
poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here
Debris 5 DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my
alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me 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!
Then my lands engrossed me—Lands of the prairies, Ohio's land, the southern savannas, engrossed me—For
to enclose all, it came to me to strike up the songs of the New World—And then I be- lieved believed my
knowledge, and the grandeur of The States, and the example of heroes, no more, I am indifferent to my
heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my
face in my hands; Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding swiftly the country
(I am ashamed—but it is useless—I am what I am;) Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men ever have
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my
songs in sex, Offspring of my loins.
WHO learns my lesson complete?
as every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is equally wonderful, and how I was
conceived in my moth- er's mother's womb is equally wonderful; And how I was not palpable once, but
And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we af- fect affect each other without ever seeing each other
WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name?
tell why it affects me so much, when I hear it from women's voices, and from men's voices, or from my
good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand provided for in a handful of space, which I extend my
arm and half enclose with my hand, That contains the start of each and all—the virtue, the germs of
I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my
My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to
myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, reproduce all in my
Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait
own Soul or defiled my body, I have claimed nothing to myself which I have not carefully claimed for
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.
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabbed
paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-colored light, From my
it seems to me if I could know those men better, I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my
own lands, It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful, benevolent, as any in my own lands; O I know
O my body, that gives me identity! O my organs !
Underfoot, the divine soil— Overhead, the sun.— Afford foothold to my poems, you Nourish my poems, Earth
In Poem The earth, that is my model of poems model ?
The body of a man, is my model—I do not reject what I find in my body—I am not ashamed—Why should I be
My Darling (Now I am maternal— a child bearer— bea have from my womb borne a child, and observe it For
them to give me the copy to make some little corrections—which I did effectually by going straight to my
And how goes it with you, my dear? I watched the N.
allow themselves to be squeezed into the stereotype mould, and wear straight collars and hats, and say "my
could go dead head if I was to apply—Jeff, I feel as if things had taken a turn with me, at last—Give my
love to Mat, and all my dear brothers, especially Georgie.
Behold this swarthy and unrefined face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon my neck
, My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, with- out without charm; Yet comes one, a Manhattanese
it harmed me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my
AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it
if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my
poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here
May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past life, Or may-be a stranger is reading
this who has secretly loved me, Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with derision
Walter it is so strange you hav e not got my letter I sent one last friday Friday morning and should
and have had all you have sent and come very acceptable I had got down to 10 cents you must have got my
told him I had hired so much of the house out he would have to hire his board write Walt if you got my
institutionalizing Jesse because, according to her December 25, 1863 letter, she "could not find it in my
I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, and behold!
there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my
my city! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!
New York March 21st Your letter in answer to my note came to hand this a.m.
Chelsea Ferry, & enquire for, Charley Hollis, or Ed Morgan mention my name, and introduce yourself as
my friend.— I am obliged to you for your kind offer of sending me a few of the sheets in advance of
all—aplomb in the midst of irrational things, Imbued as they—passive, receptive, silent as they, Finding my
woods, or of any farm- life of These States, or of the coast, or the lakes, or Kanada, Me, wherever my
House inform'd informed me that you accepted, and would publish, my "Bardic Symbols."
About the two lines: (See from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last!
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.
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
and then in the silence, Alone I had thought—yet soon a silent troop gathers around me, Some walk by my
side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive—thicker
lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pulled off a live-oak in Florida
Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march?
I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum, And I knew for my consolation
what they knew not, And I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear
she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, limber-hipp'd man, and give me your finger and thumb, Stand at my
upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my
WITH antecedents, With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages, With all which, had
In the name of These States, and in your and my name, the Past, And in the name of These States, and
in your and my name, the Present time.
Then my realities, What else is so real as mine?
done and gone, we remain, There is no final reliance but upon us, Democracy rests finally upon us, (I, my
leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my
room, It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little
or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my
body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard,
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