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Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?

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

the air I breathed froze me, A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me, Must I change my

indifferent, but trembling with age and your unheal'd wounds you mounted the scaffold;) I would sing in my

, and singled you out with attachment;) Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she swam up my

bay, Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my bay, she was 600 feet long, Her moving swiftly

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

It is I, you women, I make my way, I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you, I do not

babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, I shall demand perfect men and women out of my

WITH ANTECEDENTS. 1 WITH antecedents, With my fathers and mothers and the accumulations of past ages,

to-day and America could no-how be better than they are. 3 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.

It tickles my diaphragm to see you run huge subsoil prairie plough so deep down under the feet of the

My heart, at least, swells with gladness & pride on account of honors this winter.

I can't for my poor self at any rate.

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

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

It still maintains: I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric yawp over

And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.

I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee

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

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 follow'd, And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd

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

dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy, O then each breath tasted sweeter, and

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

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?

WHAT am I after all but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own name?

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

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

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

So many of my good friends are here that I must call it my home.

There are men and women—not here though—who bear my intuition and understand by their hearts.

in his "den" surrounded by a litter of books and papers: "When Osgood wrote me, offering to publish my

I must overlook the work myself and you must humor me in letting me have things my way.'

describes himself well enough in the lines, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable — , I sound my

He says (p. 31): Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

His tribute to Abraham Lincoln (p. 262), beginning "O Captain! my Captain!"

Me, master, years a hundred since from my parents sundered.

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

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.

My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!

woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my

lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey Dec 21 '81 My dear W S K Yours rec'd received & glad to hear from

L of G—have just sent you a package by express of the late & other editions & Vols. of poems &c. as 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

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

in the Feinberg Collection, Whitman wrote in 1886 or 1888: "Have had this little Vol. at hand or in my

there is just now a lively little thunderstorm coming on, (& over almost as soon as on)—I must finish my

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

August 3 '81 My dear Sir I send you a letter for Summer Leisure column —say for the paper of to-morrow—the

Mott avenue & 149th Street Station L New York City Aug: August 8 '81 1881 My dear Baxter Yours rec'd

Osgood & Co: are going to publish a complete & new volume of my poems, & I am coming on to see to & oversee

Ontario, Canada —and one to John Burroughs, Esopus-on-Hudson, New York — I write in N Y, but the above is my

Camden Friday afternoon May 6 My dear friend I am sorry to hear of your feeling so unwell, & have thought

while I was there)—I had a lively time in Boston—Susan I wish you could have been there the evening of my

such a collection of people as would have suited you, & been a study—different from any I ever saw in my

them from the usual crowd—about 300—(I will tell you more when I see you)— As I write this part of my

supper, & here I am in perfect quiet up in my room, finishing my letter—Susan my dear friend I hope

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

had a strange chill, rattled me for two hours lively—one or two since but milder—the doctor thinks my

Camden Sunday afternoon Jan: 30— My dear friend, I rec'd received your good letter some days since, &

write you—it is now ½ past 2, after dinner, & I have been writing & fixing up a composition alone in my

Camden Feb: 22 Evening My dear friend I still keep around & have been over to Philadelphia this afternoon

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

suppose you know all about it & have had the same—I still keep well & in good trim, thank the Lord—eat my

—Mrs G appears to be about well again— It is now 12½ Sunday—it is moderated, & the sun has come out—my

visit from 4 to 6½—But today it is raining & blowing at a great rate, & I am staying in writing,—give my

Give my love to your father & mother, & to Harry, Ed & all.

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

very anxious I should know of the bad illness of a particular friend of mine, & so wrote to Kirkwood—My

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey U S America Dec: 18 '81 My dear Rudolf Schmidt Yours of Nov: 27

too mourn the death of Elster —though unknown I had formed a liking for him—I shall forward one of my

book will not be published for some months—perhaps a year—I send you, same mail with this, a copy of my

is Sunday, just before sunset—& we have had a fine day—indeed a fine mild winter so far—have been in my

new edition is David Bogue, St Martin's Place, Trafalgar Square— I have heard that my book is to be

get out of the house—but with Spring & good weather shall no doubt be all right again—I truly hope, my

over here)—very hot indeed here the last four days, & continues still—I am standing it well—I take my

meals at Mrs Wroth's & find it a very good place—it was a good move, my going there—Mrs W is very kind—Tip

afraid something was the matter with him— I am busy five or six hours yet every day with the copy of my

guests when full, mostly families, very nice—capital table, (most too good for me, tempts me too much)— My

I suppose you get the papers I send—the Boston Globe of four or five days ago —& others—I get my letters

well here, sent on from Camden—Lou I send a small package directed to you by mail, please put it up on my

Clark very kind & thoughtful—appears as though I was going to have things all my own way—I have a table

havn't haven't heard from you all now in a fortnight— I came on yesterday from Boston —As I told you in my

last every thing went on there satisfactory —& my treatment from Osgood has been of the best—the prospect

contains only some MSS and stuff—also there may come a roll of printed matter for me, to be put up in my

8 Bullfinch Place Wednesday Evening September 7th My dear Mr.

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey U S America Dec: 8 '81 First, thanks, heartfelt thanks, my friend

things & times—this beautiful day among the rest—(now toward sundown, & I am writing this alone up in my