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that no matter affecting the Guano Islands in the Pacific Ocean, alleged to have been discovered by Captain

I advise that Captain Craig enter into personal communication with the District Attorney on the subject

Loring, Captain 3d Michigan Volunteers, on account of "two and three years Volunteers."

I have directed that he apply for information to Captain Loyd Wheaton, of the 20th Manitoba expedition

Sir: Your letter of the 12th instant enclosing a communication from Captain Gillespie, Engineer of the

Newcomb, amounting to $101, for expenses incurred in securing the deposition of Captain James Speed,

Tennessee—and that the act on account of which he is prosecuted was done during the rebellion, while he was Captain

Remak seems to have been made in good faith by Captain Hagen, and that the services were cannot pay S

and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted my shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my

My ties and ballasts leave me—I travel—I sail—my elbows rest in the sea-gaps; I skirt the sierras—my

We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can- non cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries

Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's enemy's main-mast

27From My Last Years (1876).

A.MS. draft.loc.00199xxx.00494From My Last Yearsabout 1876poetryhandwritten1 leaf23.75 x 13.75 cm; A

draft of From My Last Years written in ink on a sheet of stationery, with three lines crossed out with

From My Last Years was published only once, in Two Rivulets, 1876. From My Last Years

South Norwalk Ct April 9th 1876 Walt Whitman My Dear Sir You may and doubtless will think very strange

I think you will understand my motive well enough to think this emanates from a sincere feeling of admiration

Hine is referencing the poem that Whitman would eventually title "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?"

We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can- non cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries

Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's enemy's main-mast

MY LIKENESS! EARTH! my likeness!

heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

more daily work than ever has fallen upon me to do the current season, & though I am well & contented, my

I too send you my love. And do you feel no disappointment because I now write but briefly.

My book is my best letter, my response, my truest explanation of all.

In it I have put my body & spirit. You understand this better & fuller & clearer than any one else.

…I am yet young enough to bear thee children, my darling, if God should so bless me.

And would yield my life for this cause with serene joy if it were so appointed, if that were the price

27From My Last Years (1876).

Printed Copiesloc.04092xxx.00494From My Last Yearsabout 1876poetryhandwritten1 leaf5 x 13.25 cm; Written

paper cut from the bottom of a larger sheet to which has been attached a clipping of the poem, From My

From My Last Years

Johnny, you say you should like to see me—Well, no more than I should to see you, my darling boy.

Walt Whitman at this point deleted "Jack" and "my darling."

The first reading was "my loving boy."

Walt Whitman excised "Johnny" and "my dear son."

firm was in bankruptcy, Redfield noted that the balance due Whitman ($63.45) "will have to go in with my

I think my estate will pay 50 cents on the dollar: hope so at any rate."

Vinnie Ream, My dear friend, I would like to call on you, with an acquaintance of mine, John Swinton,

I could convey no idea to you of how it affects my soul.

I got it, looked into it with wonder, and felt that here was something that touched on depths of my humanity

even more than I should otherwise have done, to feel myself obliged to say at once that I do not see my

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

My Dear Mr Whitman: I have many messages for you from your friends in Europe which I promised and so

to come to you, but now I shall not see you till I return; for I am tired of towns and tomorrow set my

My address for a time will be San Francisco and since I cannot see you I should be proud of a letter

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

judson Judson came with her poor woman i felt great sympathy for her if i had had 5 doller dollars in my

paper concerning you and they thought so strange they hear from you i feel pretty smart only quite lame my

Louisa Van Velsor Whitman originally wrote, "my sympathy for her strong."

She then canceled the word "my" and the phrase "for her strong."

She inserted "i felt great" above the canceled word "my."

Clausen) your letter of 19th October, from Kopenhagen—& I cheerfully forward you my poems "Leaves of

I also enclose several articles & criticisms written about my books in England & America within the last

Please accept my best, brotherly good will.

Clausen, termed in Schmidt's letter "my old friend and countryman," corresponded with Schmidt after he

My Dear Mr.

…My brain is too sensitive.

bit of pathos—indubitably human—in my eye, confess now am I not a man and a brother?"

place, with my own day, here."

my dwell- dwelling .)"

'O the life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh.'

my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

my South!O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

Sept. 14, 18 71 My dear John Swinton: I have rec'd your note & enclosures.

I got it, looked into it with wonder, and felt that here was something that touched on depths of my humanity

Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death!

Ah my silvery beauty! ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson !

Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother.

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night: When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day

battle, the even-contested battle; Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I made my

long-drawn sigh—Long, long I gazed; Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my

chin in my hands; Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you, dearest comrade—Not a tear

, not a word; Vigil of silence, love and death—vigil for you, my son and my soldier, As onward silently

Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only. NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB'D BREAST ONLY.

NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only; Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself; Not

in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs; Not in many an oath and promise broken; Not in my wilful and

savage soul's volition; Not in the subtle nourishment of the air; Not in this beating and pounding at my

O pulse of my life! Need I that you exist and show yourself, any more than in these songs.

soul's passionate yearning toward thy divine Soul, every hour, every deed and thought—my love for my

children, my hopes aspirations for them all taking new shape new height through this great love My Soul

Oh for all that this love is my pride my glory.

My soul must have her loving companionship everywhere & in all things.

I am yet young enough to bear thee children my darling if God should so bless me.

That Shadow, My Likeness. That Shadow, my Likeness.

THAT shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seek- ing seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering

where it flits; How often I question and doubt whether that is really me; —But in these, and among my

lovers, and caroling my songs, O I never doubt whether that is really me.

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still

it was not a happy night for me that fol- low'd follow'd ; And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans

ing undressing , bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my

all that day my food nourish'd me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal

joy—and with the next, at evening, came my friend; And that night, while all was still, I heard the

SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

O blossoms of my blood!

WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND? WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?

MY LIKENESS! EARTH! my likeness!

That Shadow, my Likeness.

have been, & are, having a cold easterly rain storm here—I enclose, on loan, the last two photos of my

October 10, 1871, Louisa Van Velsor Whitman wrote to Walt Whitman: "george and loo and Jeff insists on my

Rossetti: Dear Sir & friend; Please accept these copies of my latest edition.

address is still there—(& always, always glad to hear from you, my friend.)

My " Leaves of Grass " I consider substantially finished, as in the copies I send you.

To " Democratic Vistas " it is my plan to add much, if I live.

Indeed, my friend, I wish to hear from you oftener.

Brooklyn, Friday, July 14. 1867 or '8 Dear Pete, It is pretty much the same with me, as when I wrote my

former letters—still home here with my mother, not busy at any thing particular but taking a good deal

letters that every thing goes on right with you on the road—give my best regards to my friends among

the drivers & conductors—Dear son, I shall now soon be coming back, & we will be together again, as my

Love to you, my dearest boy, & good bye for this time Walt.

I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference

I have press'd through in my own right, I have sung the Body and the Soul—War and Peace have I sung,

And the songs of Life and of Birth—and shown that there are many births: I have offer'd my style to every

one—I have journey'd with confident step; While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long!

4 My songs cease—I abandon them; From behind the screen where I hid, I advance person- ally personally

Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death!

Ah my silvery beauty! ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson !

Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother.

, with bends and chutes; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri; The

My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has fill'd me full—my theme is clear at last: —Banner

My dear Sir: Mr.

that he had brought your books with him from America, a gift from you, and that they were lying in my

London chambers; Whereupon I wrote back to him, begging him to bring them himself to me at my country

I have now just called at my London lodgings, and found them on the table.

I had previously met with several of your works and read them with interest and had made up my mind that

writing at a venture to propose to you the publication, in a moderate-priced volume, of a full edition of my

poems, Leaves of Grass, in England under my sanction.

I make this proposition not only to get my poems before the British public, but more because I am annoyed

at the horrible dismemberment of my book there already & possibility of something worse.

Should my proposal suit you, go right on with the book.

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!

have I also give you. 9 The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music; And my

heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

which I wrote you Sept. 6th after I had received the precious packet, a letter in which I opened all my

I know too my own shortcomings, faults, flaws.

Love & Hope are so strong in me, my souls high aspirations are of such tenacious, passionate intensity

But I cannot like you clothe my nature in divine poems & so make it visible to you. Ah foolish me!

I felt as if my silence must kill me sometimes.

Bear forth to them, folded, my love —(Dear mariners!

for you I fold it here, in every leaf;) Speed on, my Book!

And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life?

, I seek, for my own use, to trace out here.)

BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests

vacant midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my

with eager calls, and orders of officers; While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my

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

galloping by, or on a full run; With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my

walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.

; That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be, I knew I should be of my body. 7 It is not

mast- hemm'd mast-hemm'd Manhattan, My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide,

face, Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.

loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! Live, old life!

O my father, It is so broad, it covers the whole sky! FATHER.

now the halyards have rais'd it, Side of my banner broad and blue—side of my starry banner, Discarding

eastern shore, and my western shore the same; And all between those shores, and my ever-running Mississippi

, with bends and chutes; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri; The

My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has fill'd me full—my theme is clear at last: —Banner

My Dear friend Walt Whitman I have written so many letters to you dictated by Charles that I feel a painful

although I thought he was likely to die any time, still I find I was unprepared for his departure & my

I look at my three children & think what a work I have got left to perform.

My Mother from Massachusetts is with me for a few days and it is a great comfort.

New Haven, Conn see notes Dec 18 1888 from Mrs Hine | ab't my dear friend C.H. Mrs.

My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!

O dear to me my birth-things—All moving things, and the trees where I was born—the grains, plants, rivers

; Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over flats of silvery sands, or through

the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa, and the Sabine; O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my

the graceful palmetto; I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound through an inlet, and dart my

And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life?

(As if any man really knew aught of my life; Why, even I myself, I often think, know little or noth-

ing nothing of my real life; Only a few hints—a few diffused, faint clues and indi- rections indirections

, I seek, for my own use, to trace out here.)

miner in California; Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring; Or

place, with my own day, here.

My comrade!

my intrepid nations! O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!

steamers steaming through my poems!

Inflating my throat—you, divine average! You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.

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

To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose- color'd rose-color'd flesh; To be conscious of my body

How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead!

sail'd down the Mississippi, As I wander'd over the prairies, As I have lived—As I have look'd through my

O Manhattan, my own, my peerless! O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis!

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night: When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!

heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests