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. * I T has been a melancholy task to read this book; and it is a still more melancholy one to write
Whitman is very fond of blowing his own trumpet, and he has made very explicit claims for his book.
your dear sake, O soldiers, And for you, O soul of man, and you, love of comrades; The words of my book
He tells us, in the lines quoted, that the words of his book are nothing.
We look in vain, however, through your book for a single idea.
and prose, but also digests of facts and events, copies of important documents, etc.), compiled into book-length
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,
doors to me, proud libraries, For that which was lacking among you all, yet needed most, I bring; A book
your dear sake, O soldiers, And for you, O soul of man, and you, love of comrades; The words of my book
nothing, the life of it every- thing everything ; A book separate, not link'd with the rest, nor felt
lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring, Forth from the war emerging, a book
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
I answered, I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, Waged in my book
Then falter not O book, fulfil fulfill your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too
soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All
book-words! what are you?
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son
be put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys; Let them that distrust birth and death
there is in their very construction an element of the magnificent old Hebrew rhythm which marks the book
— The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect, But you ye untold latencies, will
It is true that there are in this book things which no man observant of conventions would have dared
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
I see all the menials of the earth, laboring, I see all the prisoners in the prisons, I see the defective
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son
be put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys; Let them that distrust birth and death
I answer'd, I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, Waged in my book
Then falter not O book, fulfil fulfill your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too
soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring, Forth from the war emerging, a book
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd