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am always glad to get any letters from you dear boy)—Harry, you certainly know well enough you have my

it all—I go back to the times at Timber Creek beginning most five years ago, & the banks & spring, & my

should not be a living man to-day —I think & remember deeply these things & they comfort me— & you my

—Of the occasional ridiculous little storms & squalls of the past I have quite discarded them from my

you will too—the other recollections overtop them altogether, & occupy the only permanent place in 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 nothing of

my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to

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

parrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree and the blos- soming blossoming titi; Again, sailing in my

Camden Thursday Evening June 2 My dear friend I suppose it must look fine down there after the heavy

fruit & grain— Nothing very new with me—the big Boston house has sent me word that they will publish my

stands now—I find I can have them publish it, if I choose, but I suppose I am getting pretty lofty in my

old days & must have my own terms, & pretty good ones too— I am feeling pretty well—I think my last

, & a prospect of some pleasant days, sufficiently cool— I am alone in the house, have been all day—My

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

My limbs, my veins dilate, my theme is clear at last, Banner so broad advancing out of the night, I sing

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

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

Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!

than you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my

forever held in solution, I too had receiv'd identity by my body, That I was I knew was of my body,

What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face?

Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you? We understand then do we not?

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

SPLENDOR of ended day floating and filling me, Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past, Inflating my throat

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 flesh!

To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large! To be this incredible God I am!

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

Scented Herbage of My Breast. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves

O blossoms of my blood!

grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

Who Learns My Lesson Complete? WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE? WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is im- mortal 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, And pass'd from a babe in the creeping

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red

rais'd by a perfect mother, After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements, Dweller in Mannahatta my

, Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring, Or withdrawn to muse

place with my own day here.

My comrade!

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

AS toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas

this sign left, On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering, Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of

soldier's grave, comes the inscrip- tion inscription rude in Virginia's woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my

WANDERING at morn, Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee

Thee coil'd in evil times my country, with craft and black dismay, with every meanness, treason thrust

its young, The singing thrush whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, Fail not to certify and cheer my

If vermin so transposed, so used and bless'd may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my

26Come, said my Soul… Proof with signature.loc.00183xxx.00596Come, Said My Soul1881poetryhandwritten1

On verso reads "Copyright 1881, By Walt Whitman, All rights reserved" Come, Said My Soul

FATHOMLESS DEEPS. 1 RISE O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep, Long for my

O wild as my heart, and powerful!)

you have done me good, My soul prepared in the mountains absorbs your immortal strong nutriment, Long

had I walk'd my cities, my country roads through farms, only half satisfied, One doubt nauseous undulating

like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me, Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft,

March 6 Dear friend The days go along with me pretty much after the old sort, though I dont don't get my

did in the fall & early winter—I busy myself writing some & reading a little—am doing quite well with my

books, & have been all winter—when the weather permits I try to get out, but my strength soon fails

think of coming down next Friday to stay two or three days at any rate—a friend of mine here about my

a long letter from her last week—Susan I am afraid this is not a very lively letter—I have just had my

Dear Hank I am here seeing to the setting up & stereotyping of my book in a big printing office, (Rand

I sent—they will give you some acc't account of two or three little happenings in my jaunt—I was down

on Long Island at the spot where I was born & where I had spent my summers in youth from time to time—went

fine very old trees)—I am now writing this in Osgood's place in Boston (they are the publishers of my

—I wish you to give my love to your father & mother—Debbie & Jo Ed, Mont, & Van—Ruth & little George—

HERE the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself

do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows, Chaff, straw,

O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth, Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,

whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my

sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me, Because I have dared to open my

Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See, from my dead lips

hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my

soul, Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my soul, That the soul of the man

substantial life, Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my

forty-first year, I proceed for all who are or have been young men, To tell the secret of my nights

early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep, Behold me where I pass, hear my

voice, approach, Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body

As I Lay With My Head in Your Lap Camerado. AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO.

AS I lay with my head in your lap camerado, The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the

open air I resume, I know I am restless and make others so, I know my words are weapons full of danger

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey Jan: 15 '81 My dear friend As I have not rec'd received the proof

In the Feb: February N A North American Review there is a piece of mine about Poetry (a good many of my

send to Mr Rice, the editor, or Mr Metcalf the business manager, & I think get the sheets—you can use my

name— Walt Whitman Should you notice, send to me In my last I addressed you at 757 Broadway—is either

Jersey Dec: 10 '81 Dear Sirs Please send me here by express fifteen free copies Leaves of Grass for my

sheets are sent)— Then another thing: I have a few copies remaining (between one & two hundred sets) of my

mostly in England —which I should like to sell whenever applied to—price $10— You have no objections to my

good than harm to it—but is not of much importance any how—only (to me) as putting a few dollars in my

I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of sum- mer summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from

stuck up, and am in my place.

Now comes a passage remarkable for its nobility: "With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums

I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

Earth, My Likeness. EARTH, MY LIKENESS.

EARTH, my likeness, Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, I now suspect that is not

Beginning My Studies. BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

BEGINNING my studies the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the

431 Stevens Street, Camden, Jan: 26 '81 My dear friend I am sorry to have to send you word that I am

unable to meet you & the other friends at dinner— I send you herewith a couple of pictures (I call it my

Quaker picture)—one is for your father—also the books herewith —also my love to you— Walt Whitman Walt

My satisfaction with your proposed German trans[lation] increases the more you unfold it, and I think

In the whole matter I freely trust to your intuitions and 'cuteness as to meanings, my dear friend—you

My letter to Mr Lee was also as a preface to the Russian translation.

much of the internationality element (sentiment) which I have intended as one of the leading fibres of my

431 Stevens Street Camden Jan: 26 '81 My dear friend I am sorry to have to send you word that I am not

unable to meet you & the other friends at dinner—I send you herewith a couple of pictures (I call it my

Quaker picture) —one is for your father —also the books herewith—also my love to you— Walt Whitman Walt

the still woods I loved, I will not go now on the pastures to walk, I will not strip the clothes from my

body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me.

I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd, I will run a furrow with my plough,

I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath, I am sure I shall expose some of the

transparent green-wash of the sea which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my

daughters, sons, preluding, The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, Curious here behold my

cycles in their wide sweep having brought me again, Amorous, mature, all beautiful to me, all wondrous, My

wondrous, Existing I peer and penetrate still, Content with the present, content with the past, By my

Ere departing fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets; Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet

steps keep time; Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day, Touch my

mouth ere you depart, press my lips close, Leave me your pulses of rage—bequeath them to me—fill me

with currents convulsive, Let them scorch and blister out of my chants when you are gone, Let them identify

knows, aught of them,) May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) as from my

, from entirely changed points of view; To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by my

lovers, my dear friends, When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding me by the

appearances or that of identity beyond the grave, But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied, He ahold of my

Osgood and Co of Boston for the publishing of my poems complete in one volume, under the title of "Walt

Nothing very new otherwise—you must have kept posted about my Boston jaunt, for I sent you papers—it

My forthcoming summer movements are not exactly decided—probably go on to Boston for two or three weeks

, as I like to keep a sharp eye on my proofs and typography—then I must go a month in Canada—I will keep

What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

To rise thither with my inebriate soul! To be lost if it must be so!

songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.

voice, approach, Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body

MY DEAR WALT: You don't write me a letter nor take any notice of my magnificent offers concerning "Pond

My mother is away staying with Beatrice in Edinburgh city, recruiting her health, which has most sadly

advice or opinion of a drawing connected with my father's book.

My cousin Sidney Thomas is, or was, in America, a good deal lionized, I understand.

Interested in those Boston scraps you send my mother.

THE SLEEPERS. 1 I WANDER all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping

I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the most restless, I pass my hands

He whom I call answers me and takes the place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed.

. 2 I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, Perfume and youth course through me and I am

darn my grandson's stockings.

treated me kindly, and the young people made a great deal of me, but, perhaps, that was on account of my

printing-house, and superintended everything, even the type in which the book was printed, and they made my

"I spent considerable time in New York," he adds, "and a number of weeks on Long Island, my native place

S o many of my good friends are here that I must call it my home."

431 Stevens Street Camden Sunday afternoon Jan: 16 My dear friends You havn't haven't sent for the two

I was out once or twice sleighing—my brother took me—his mare Nelly is in fine condition—pretty lively—makes

things fly sometimes I have been in all day reading & writing—I have put up two sets of my books, to

farmer—well if he is satisfied, it is about as good as anything, I don't know but better— There comes my

call to dinner, & I shall go for it without delay & finish my helter-skelter letter afterwards.

fullest satisfaction (if not already—which I thought the case—distinctly, amply, legally secured by my

correspondence between us ante )—But the copyright of Leaves of Grass must remain absolutely & solely in my

I want to say over again that while I reserve to the fullest degree all my own rights & the means to

maintain them, you are to be, & I hereby make & confirm you, the sole issuers and publishers of my completed

strenuously & loyally in the enterprise—& to add that I do not fix any term or limit of years, because it is my

Weave In, My Hardy Life. WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.

WEAVE in, weave in, my hardy life, Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come, Weave

BOSTON,__________188 Monday noon Oct: October 10 '81 My dear friend Yours rec'd received , & thanks—I

still linger along here—the printing of my book is finished—but one or two little things I want to see

word a day beforehand—I am well as usual—Have had a very pleasant time here, & the book printed &c. to my

Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; Heart of my

you too I heard murmuring low through one of the wrists around my head, Heard the pulse of you when all

was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.

What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand? WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND?

WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?

But I would like to have a sample page in bourgeois too for my calculations —I hope it will be new type—The

typographical show of my poems—how they shall show (negatively as well as absolutely) on the black &

white page—is always in my idea in making them—I am printer enough for that— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey May 8 '81 My dear Mr Osgood I write in answer to the note on the

other side from my dear friend O'Reilly —My plan is to have all my poems, down to date, comprised in

dear brothers' and sisters' sake, for the soul's sake, Wending my way through the homes of men, rich

words, mine only, Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin'd myself to an early death; But my

charity has no death—my wisdom dies not, neither early nor late, And my sweet love bequeath'd here and

side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, Nor time nor change shall ever change me or my words. 4

Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you just feel it, I do not argue, I bend my head close and half

Nov. 28 [1881] 29 Lange Strasse Dresden My dear Whitman Yesterday I received all your dispatches—viz,

Still I am very glad that I have it complete in my old .

This volume, with its new poems, etc. offered a field of "pleasant exploration" and renewed my sense

I have ordered my book to be sent to the American papers you mentioned.

You should have recd. received a copy of my Encheiridion by this. Thomas W. H.

poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats, Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me, (For what is my

You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my

Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, It shall yet march forth o'ermastering