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my special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!
wood edge, thy touching-distant beams enough, Or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my
launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these, Prepare the later afternoon of me myself—prepare my
lengthen- ing lengthening shadows, Prepare my starry nights.
Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?
be abandon'd, Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let go your hand from my
acquire 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
Feb 16/81 My dearest friend, At last I am beginning to feel myself again after a four months spell of
I feel as if my usual good health has made me obtuse & unsympathetic towards the ailing.
It was very hard for us to be sundered during my illness—but was the right thing to do, she was so much
My letter seems all about myself but then I want you to know why I have been so long silent.
I send you a photo of my little grandson. Anne Gilchrist to Walt Whitman, 16 February 1881
AS I ponder'd in silence, Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, A Phantom arose before
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my
And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?
my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to
BEGINNING MY STUDIES.
TO the leaven'd soil they trod calling I sing for the last, (Forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing
vistas beyond, to the South and the North, To the leaven'd soil of the general Western world to attest my
Northern ice and rain that began me nourish me to the end, But the hot sun of the South is to fully ripen my
my special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!
lengthen- ing lengthening shadows, Prepare my starry nights.
my city! ALL IS TRUTH.
WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.
Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?
refreshing night the walks of Paradise, I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; Thy song expands my
and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.
the terrible tableaus. 7 O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, Thou melt'st my
heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, chan- gest changest them at will; And now thy sullen notes send
soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future
Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, Return in peace to the ocean my love, I too am part of
that ocean my love, we are not so much sepa- rated separated , Behold the great rondure, the cohesion
little space—know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land, Every day at sundown for your dear sake my
moments—when you come upon me—ah you are here now, Give me now libidinous joys only, Give me the drench of my
and drink with the drinkers, The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I pick out some low person for my
one condemn'd by others for deeds done, I will play a part no longer, why should I exile myself from my
who have set up & electrotyped a new, complete & markedly fuller edition (with several new pieces) of my
at once, with the request that you will immediately have the book entered for copyright & secured in my
I am under many obligations in the past to my friend your Josiah Child, & should like to have this matter
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend
hanging idly over my shoulder, The hillside whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same late
and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love, The body of my
trembling encircling fingers, the young man all color'd, 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
O'Grady | sent photos to him Dec 24 '81 11 Lr Lower Fitzwilliam St Dublin October 5, 1881 Dear Sir, My
My impressions regarding this literature I have published in various works.
poems & tales into a complete whole & so the student can never be exactly certain what is & what is not my
In the revolt of Islam he has a fine Panegyric on the future of America Fr For my own part I put him
I do not meet in you the expression of every changing ideal punctuating even the remotest parts of my
Dear Friend and Master You see I am now back in my own country.
I am staying, with my wife (I have been married about 18 months) at my father's house.
You did not say anything about my translation of Epictetus which I sent you.
I want it as a present for a friend, so don't write my name in the beginning.
Indeed the friend is my wife—so on second thoughts I would be glad, & so would she, if you would write
YET, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain
, The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination
last July & August and then for the last two months have been in Boston, seeing to the printing of my
complete poems "Leaves of Grass" in one volume—which is all done to my satisfaction, & the book will
did have some jolly times I tell you— The Saturday evening before I came away I gave a reception to my
all right—I should be real glad to see them & Deb too—When Harry comes home Sunday tell him I sent my
—Well it is growing twilight & I must stop— Walt Whitman my address here for ten days will be Mott av
A SIGHT in camp in the daybreak gray and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless, As slow I
Who are you my dear comrade? Then to the second I step—and who are you my child and darling?
noise of the world a rural domestic life, Give me to warble spontaneous songs recluse by myself, for my
excitement, and rack'd by the war-strife,) These to procure incessantly asking, rising in cries from my
heart, While yet incessantly asking still I adhere to my city, Day upon day and year upon year O city
enrich'd of soul, you give me forever faces; (O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my
cries, I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.) 2 Keep your splendid silent sun, Keep your
MY spirit to yours dear brother, Do not mind because many sounding your name do not under- stand understand
you, I do not sound your name, but I understand you, I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you
- ousies jealousies , recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my
that love me, (Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, But soon my
fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself, To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or
2 O maidens and young men I love and that love me, What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden
Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, Straight and swift to my wounded I go, Where they lie on the
thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my
COME my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready, Have you your pistols?
O my breast aches with tender love for all!
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies, as I myself do,
name, the Past, And in the name of these States and in your and my name, the Present time.
when we meet, Tom—but some six weeks ago was careless enough to get badly chill'd chilled all through my
My great loafing place out there is a big old woods, mostly pine & oak, but lots of laurel & holly, old
Broadway New York from the top of an omnibus—at other times along the seashore at Coney Island)— Tom, my
filled & I must close—I wanted to write something about the running & matches, but must postpone it—Give my
love to all my friends there & you yourself, dear boy— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to Thomas Nicholson
salutes, When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me, and heaven- clouds heaven-clouds canopy my
To us, my city, Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite sides, to walk in the
See my cantabile!
, I chant the world on my Western sea, I chant copious the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky,
sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes, My stars and stripes fluttering in the wind,
sassier this winter so far than for some years, am very comfortable here, plain & quiet though—eat my
any book particular you want, you tell me, & I will try to get it—Lots of sleighs out, good sleighing—my
had dinner, hot soup, cold roast beef, apple pie—all good—the sun is out real warm, & I shall go at my
should just like to have a ten mile ride behind his nag with the sleigh bells—Dear boy, I send you my
My Picture-Gallery. MY PICTURE-GALLERY.
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my
songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.
I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo!
there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my
my city!
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my
spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
(I bequeath them to you my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)
To rise thither with my inebriate soul! To be lost if it must be so!
About the plate my impression still is that in the hands of a good expert steel plate printer it will
My notion is against getting up any further portrait (this steel plate will have to permanently continue
carefully done , & with good ink)—& the binding, color, style, (strong, plain, unexpensive inexpensive , is my
& fixing the ground , more & more & more—& now that the seed is dropt dropped in it sprouts quickly—my
own feeling ab't about my book is that it makes (tries to make) every fellow see himself , & see that
real, & are mostly within reach of all—you chew on this— Hank, I am still feeling under the weather—My
Then separate, as disembodied or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation, I
ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man, O sharer of my roving life.
of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my
look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my
BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown
My dear Mr Mr.
Spofford If convenient won't you inform me soon as possible by letter here, of the dates of my copyrights
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 containing the start of each and all, the virtue, the germs
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 blabb'd
I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nim- bus nimbus of gold-color'd light, From my
In you whoe'er you are my book perusing, In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, All,
the West joyously sounding, Your tidings old, yet ever new and untranslatable, Infinitesimals out of my
life, and many a life, (For not my life and years alone I give—all, all I give,) These waifs from the
IN a far-away northern county in the placid pastoral region, Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my
appears to them, (books, politics, poems, depart—all else departs,) I confess I envy only his fascination—my
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?
rapt verse, my call, mock me not!
You by my charm I invoke.
do 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
body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me.
COURAGE yet, my brother or my sister!
Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?
WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE? WHO learns my lesson complete?
MY PICTURE-GALLERY.
And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly
need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my
here for a few days, after spending a week down on Long Island, mostly at West Hills and Cold Spring, my
parents' places of nativity—& my own place.
SKIRTING the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance
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 Canada , Me wherever my
Jan 21 1881 Walt Whitman My dear Sir Permit me to thank you on behalf of the readers of the Review for
be able to afford to the readers of the Review frequent opportunity of being instructed by you I am my
the streets, nor the bright windows with goods in them, Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my
as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love, Offering response to my
smoke, By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor, some in the pews laid down, At my
stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily,) Then before I depart I sweep my
resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my
London Dec 6 th —81 To my Dear Friend M r Whitman, I sit now in my hall on duty, to write you these few
I gus guess I will bring my letter to a close, By sending the Love of all the asylum Employies Employees
Before the window where I do my morning work, there is an old lilac tree, dating from my grandmother's
Forgive my assurance, and, if possible give me that pleasure of that great recompense for being so unknown