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From the links below we reproduce all of the images currently available, courtesy of Rare Book Division
According to Anne Traubel, Whitman never did find the book; it was discovered only "several years after
almost exclusively on the manuscript material; neither provides much information about the printed book
Copyright on the book was renewed on March 15, 1883, for fourteen additional years. Myerson, 18.
Copies of the deposit title pages for this and later editions of are held in the Rare Books and Special
Rare Books and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
The book appeared in the Publisher's Circular under American books on October 15, 1855. II.
Dixon went on of Grindrod: "he used to bring such lots of wonderful curious books—books you don't in
The price of the book also dropped.
"Leaf-books" of this kind were not uncommon in the cash-strapped depression years, as book publishers
Whitman Making Books / Books Making Whitman: A Catalog and Commentary .
a series of draft advertisements for the volume that would introduce him as "The New Poet" and his book
length from six printed lines that succinctly described the "green and gilt" physical appearance of the book
In doing so, this ad functions as a brief preview of the experience of opening Whitman's book for the
The idea of "The New Poet," having just published his first book of verse, yet emerging on the literary
He instructs them how to read , explaining "you do not follow them as reading a book, but as a willing
He makes no allusions to books or writers; their spirits do not seem to have touched him; he has not
For all our intellectual people, followed by their books, poems, novels, essays, editorials, lectures
of a book which can have given the hint to them.
In opinions, in manners, in costumes, in books, in the aims and occupancy of life, in associates, in
As seems very proper in a book of transcendental poetry, the author withholds his name from the title
I rubbed my eyes a little to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the sold solid sense of the book
"I did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name
I did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison . . . . the runaway
or man that has been in prison or is likely to be in prison?
the revision may have had more to do with Whitman's desire to balance day and night throughout the book
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
Let the prison-keepers be put in prison! Let those that were prisoners take the keys! (Say!
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison—the run-away son
book-words! what are you?
17 All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
A single glance of it mocks all the investigations of man and all the instruments and books of the earth
season of every year of your life, re examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book
My words are words of a questioning, and to indicate reality; This printed and bound book . . . . but
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison . . . . the runaway
or man that has been in prison or is likely to be in prison?
A single glance of it mocks all the investigations of man and all the instruments and books of the earth
season of every year of your life, re examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book
rages with many a loud alarm and frequent advance and retreat . . . . the enemy triumphs . . . . the prison
In paintings or mouldings or carvings in mineral or wood, or in the illustrations of books or newspapers
discreditable means . . not any nastiness of appetite . . not any harshness of officers to men or judges to prisoners
second or third hand . . . . nor look through the eyes of the dead . . . . nor feed on the spectres in books
wandering savage, A farmer, mechanic, or artist . . . . a gentleman, sailor, lover or quaker, A prisoner
great authors and schools, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books
I become any presence or truth of humanity here, And see myself in prison shaped like another man, And
My words are words of a questioning, and to indicate reality; This printed and bound book . . . . but
printed or preached or discussed . . . . it eludes discussion and print, It is not to be put in a book
. . . . it is not in this book, It is for you whoever you are . . . . it is no farther from you than
write what we think . . . . yet very faintly; The directory, the detector, the ledger . . . . the books
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison . . . . the runaway
and the master salutes the slave, The felon steps forth from the prison . . . . the insane becomes sane
by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor . . . . all falls aside but myself and it, Books
not what is printed, preach'd, discussed—it eludes discussion and print; It is not to be put in a book—it
is not in this book; It is for you, whoever you are—it is no farther from you than your hearing and
descends and goes, instead of the carver that carved the supporting desk; When I can touch the body of books
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison—the run-away son
slave is one with the master's call, and the master salutes the slave, The felon steps forth from the prison—the
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this book, What am I myself but one
YOU felons on trial in courts; You convicts in prison-cells—you sentenced assassins, chain'd and hand-cuff'd
with iron; Who am I, too, that I am not on trial, or in prison?
down, throwing the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs; The salesman leaving the store—the boss, book-keeper
Who are you, that wanted only a book to join you in your nonsense?
17 All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
let the prison- keepers prison-keepers be put in prison!
let those that were prisoners take the keys! (Say! why might they not just as well be transposed?)
Let books take the place of trees, animals, rivers, clouds!
me; Of their languages, governments, marriage, literature, products, games, wars, manners, crimes, prisons
book-words! what are you?
these hours supreme, No poem proud, I, chanting, bring to thee—nor mastery's rapturous verse; But a book
loud alarm, and frequent advance and retreat, The infidel triumphs—or supposes he triumphs, Then the prison
or how long; Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my voice will suddenly cease. 2 O book
This is no book; Who touches this, touches a man; (Is it night? Are we here alone?)
drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor—all falls aside but myself and it; Books
For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, Nor is it by reading it you
how unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they were, Then I am pensive—I hastily put down the book
library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America, Nor literary success, nor intellect—nor book
for the book-shelf; Only a few carols, vibrating through the air, I leave, For comrades and lovers.
see these sights on the earth; I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and prisoners
Books friendships philosophers priests action pleasure pride beat up and down seeking to give satisfaction
or man that has been in prison or is likely to be in prison?
Great are marriage, commerce, newspapers, books, freetrade, railroads, steamers, international mails
I see the menials of the earth, laboring, I see the prisoners in the prisons, I see the defective human
or man that has been in prison, or is likely to be in prison? 15 — Clef Poem.
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the run- away runaway
Let the prison-keepers be put in prison! Let those that were prisoners take the keys! (Say!
Let books take the place of trees, animals, rivers, clouds!
I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is
I did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name
Their shadows are projected in employments, in books, in the cities, in trade; their feet are on the
The twelve thousand large and small shops for dispensing books and newspapers—the same number of public
I see plying shuttles, the active ephemeral myriads of books also, faithfully weaving the garments of
looking cautiously to see how the rest behave, dress, write, talk, love—pressing the noses of dead books
alive, is attributable the remarkable non-personality and indistinctness of modern productions in books
make his way into the confidence of his readers, and his poems in time will become a pregnant text-book
He makes no allusions to books or writers; their spirits do not seem to have touched him; he has not
We omit much even in this short extract, for the book abounds in passages that can not be quoted in drawing-rooms
reserve and with perfect indifference as to their effect on the reader's mind; and not only is the book
this gross yet elevated, this superficial yet profound, this preposterous yet somehow fascinating book
As seems very proper in a book of transcendental poetry, the author withholds his name from the title-page
inexpressible purposes of nature, and for this haughtiest of writers that has ever yet written and printed a book
The man is the true impersonation of his book—rough, uncouth, vulgar.
cannot tell, unless it means a man who thinks that the fine essence of poetry consists in writing a book
We should have passed over this book, "LEAVES OF GRASS," with indignant contempt, had not some few Transatlantic
suppose that Walt Whitman has been learning to write, and that the compositor has got hold of his copy-book
We will neither weary nor insult our readers with more extracts from this notable book.
Emerson writes that he finds in his book "incomparable things, said incomparably well."
The book he pronounces "the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed
In that state he would write a book exactly like Walt Whitman's "LEAVES OF GRASS."
Three-fourths of Walt Whitman's book is poetry as catalogues of auctioneers are poems.
A Catalogue of the Household Furniture with the select collection of scarce, curious, and valuable books
creations of the modern American mind; but he is no fool, though abundantly eccentric, nor is his book
again there is no patronymic, and we can only infer that this roystering blade is the author of the book
Such, as we conceive, is the key to this strange, grotesque, and bewildering book; yet we are far from
This book should find no place where humanity urges any claim to respect, and the author should be kicked
things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books
Europe, Asia—a wandering savage, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, lover, quaker, A prisoner
great authors and schools, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books
Did you read in the sea-books of the old-fashioned frigate-fight?
I become any presence or truth of humanity here, And see myself in prison shaped like another man, And
drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor—all falls aside but myself and it; Books
For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, Nor is it by reading it you
library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America, Nor literary success, nor intellect—nor book
for the book-shelf; Only a few carols, vibrating through the air, I leave, For comrades and lovers.
see these sights on the earth; I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and prisoners
Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, plea- sure pleasure , pride, beat up and down, seeking
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this book, What am I myself but one