Simply enter the word you wish to find and the search engine will search for every instance of the word in the journals. For example: Fight. All instances of the use of the word fight will show up on the results page.
Using an asterisk (*) will increase the odds of finding the results you are seeking. For example: Fight*. The search results will display every instance of fight, fights, fighting, etc. More than one wildcard may be used. For example: *ricar*. This search will return most references to the Aricara tribe, including Ricara, Ricares, Aricaris, Ricaries, Ricaree, Ricareis, and Ricarra. Using a question mark (?) instead of an asterisk (*) will allow you to search for a single character. For example, r?n will find all instances of ran and run, but will not find rain or ruin.
Searches are not case sensitive. For example: george will come up with the same results as George.
Searching for a specific phrase may help narrow down the results. Rather long phrases are no problem. For example: "This white pudding we all esteem".
Because of the creative spellings used by the journalists, it may be necessary to try your search multiple times. For example: P?ro*. This search brings up numerous variant spellings of the French word pirogue, "a large dugout canoe or open boat." Searching for P?*r*og?* will bring up other variant spellings. Searching for canoe or boat also may be helpful.
| Entering in only one field | Searches |
|---|---|
| Year, Month, & Day | Single day |
| Year & Month | Whole month |
| Year | Whole year |
| Month & Day | 1600-#-# to 2100-#-# |
| Month | 1600-#-1 to 2100-#-31 |
| Day | 1600-01-# to 2100-12-# |
27From My Last Years (1876).
A.MS. draft.loc.00199xxx.00494From My Last Yearsabout 1876poetryhandwritten1 leaf23.75 x 13.75 cm; A
draft of From My Last Years written in ink on a sheet of stationery, with three lines crossed out with
From My Last Years was published only once, in Two Rivulets, 1876. From My Last Years
27From My Last Years (1876).
Printed Copiesloc.04092xxx.00494From My Last Yearsabout 1876poetryhandwritten1 leaf5 x 13.25 cm; Written
paper cut from the bottom of a larger sheet to which has been attached a clipping of the poem, From My
From My Last Years
A.MS. draft.loc.00088xxx.00236Returning to my pages' front oncebetween 1871 and 1876poetryhandwritten1
Returning to my pages' front once
by Henry Ulke and Brothers, 1871 Whitman spoke of people's reaction to this photo, "Some of them say my
O'Connor called it my sea-captain face.
Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; —Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies,
, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scatter'd islands, the stars— on the firm earth, the lands, my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
my lands are inevitably united, and made ONE IDENTITY; Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
untrodden and mouldy—I see no longer any axe upon it; I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my
I do not vaunt my love for you; I have what I have.) The axe leaps!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them shape!
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me, the sun-light expands my blood!
Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well. Allons! be not detain'd!
I give you my hand!
all—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, Me, wherever my
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
walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.
; That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be, I knew I should be of my body. 7 It is not
mast- hemm'd mast-hemm'd Manhattan, My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide,
face, Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.
loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! Live, old life!
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.
Now List to My Morning's Romanza.
NOW LIST TO MY MORNING'S ROMANZA. 1 Now list to my morning's romanza—I tell the signs of the Answerer
And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right hand in my left hand, and his left
hand in my right hand, And I answer for his brother, and for men, and I an- swer answer for him that
to the President at his levee, And he says, Good-day, my brother!
BY the City Dead-House, by the gate, As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor, I curious pause—for
take one breath from my tremulous lips; Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you, Dead
CAROL OF OCCUPATIONS. 1 COME closer to me; Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess!
Neither a servant nor a master am I; I take no sooner a large price than a small price—I will have my
become so for your sake; If you remember your foolish and outlaw'd deeds, do you think I cannot remember my
are; I am this day just as much in love with them as you; Then I am in love with you, and with all my
List close, my scholars dear!
Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.
me, and takes the place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed.
my clothes were stolen while I was abed, Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?
carefully darn my grandson's stockings.
How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!
shame or the need of shame. 2 Air, soil, water, fire—these are words; I myself am a word with them—my
qualities interpene- trate interpenetrate with theirs—my name is nothing to them; Though it were told
in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath
(For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes—the old, the incessant war?)
painful and choked articulations—you mean- nesses meannesses ; You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my
resolutions, you racking angers, you smoth- er'd smother'd ennuis; Ah, think not you finally triumph—My
indifferent , but trembling with age and your unheal'd wounds, you mounted the scaffold;) —I would sing in my
know not why, but I loved you…(and so go forth little song, Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my
love, and drop these lines at his feet;) —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
love, spit their salutes; When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me— when heaven-clouds canopy my
To us, my city, Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite sides—to walk in the space
4 See, my cantabile!
chant, projected, a thousand blooming cities yet, in time, on those groups of sea-islands; I chant my
sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes; I chant my stars and stripes fluttering in the
I am determin'd to press my way toward you; Sound your voice!
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
the graceful palmetto; I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound through an inlet, and dart my
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?
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
DRUM-TAPS. 1 FIRST, O songs, for a prelude, Lightly strike on the stretch'd tympanum, pride and joy in my
O Manhattan, my own, my peerless! O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis!
for our pre- lude prelude , songs of soldiers,) How Manhattan drum-taps led. 2 Forty years had I in my
Long for my soul, hungering gymnastic, I devour'd what the earth gave me; Long I roam'd the woods of
O wild as my heart, and powerful!)
wonder, yet pensive and masterful; All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me; Yet there with my
; —Long had I walk'd my cities, my country roads, through farms, only half satisfied; One doubt, nauseous
longer wait—I am fully satisfied—I am glutted; I have witness'd the true lightning—I have witness'd my
yours—yet peace no more; In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine; War, red war, is my
Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convul- sively convulsively ?
Aye, this is the ground; My blind eyes, even as I speak, behold it re-peopled from graves; The years
night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing, Silent as a ghost, while they thought they were sure of him, my
him at the river-side, Down by the ferry, lit by torches, hastening the embar- cation embarcation ; My
But when my General pass'd me, As he stood in his boat, and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something
fire—the silence; Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving; The shrubs and trees, (as I left my
VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night: When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day
battle, the even-contested battle; Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I made my
long-drawn sigh—Long, long I gazed; Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my
chin in my hands; Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you, dearest comrade—Not a tear
, not a word; Vigil of silence, love and death—vigil for you, my son and my soldier, As onward silently
smoke; By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the floor, some in the pews laid down; At my
staunch 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
A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow
Who are you, my dear comrade? Then to the second I step—And who are you, my child and darling?
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
the unknown soldier's grave—comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my
the air I breathed froze me; A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me; Must I change my
said I to my- self myself ; Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baf- fled baffled ?
2 O maidens and young men I love, and that love me, What you ask of my days, those the strangest and
without noise, and be of strong heart.) 3 Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, Straight and swift to my
knee, the wound in the abdo- men abdomen ; These and more I dress with impassive hand—(yet deep in my
a fire, a burning flame.) 5 Thus in silence, in dreams' projections, Returning, resuming, I thread my
world, a rural domestic life; Give me to warble spontaneous songs, reliev'd, 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
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
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!
have I also give you. 9 The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music; And my
heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests
vacant midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my
with eager calls, and orders of officers; While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my
or near, (rousing, even in dreams, a devilish exultation, and all the old mad joy, in the depths of my
galloping by, or on a full run; With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my
Death and Night, inces- santly incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world: …For my
where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin —I draw near; I bend down, and touch lightly with my
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayo- nets bayonets ; Spirit of gloomiest fears and
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!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone; Let them identify you to the future,
glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;) How solemn the thought of my
trod, calling, I sing, for the last; (Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead, But forth from my
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 ripen my
Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creas'd and cadaverous march?
I saw the face of the most smear'd and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum; And I knew for my consolation
what they knew not; I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear the
pickets, Come here, she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, lim-ber-hipp'dlimber-hipp'd man, Stand at my
upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my
That, O my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
I swear I will have each quality of my race in my- self myself , (Talk as you like, he only suits These
rapt verse, my call—mock me not!
You, by my charm, I invoke!
1 COME, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols?
2 For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful
O my breast aches with tender love for all!
12 See, my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter,
18 I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores
and let one line of my poems contra- dict contradict another!
tain-high mountain-high ; Brazen effrontery, scheming, rolling like ocean's waves around and upon you, O my
my lands!
Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!
Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?
done and gone, we remain; There is no final reliance but upon us; Democracy rests finally upon us, (I, my
Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life. WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE. WEAVE in!
weave in, my hardy life!
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too, O my Ideal, will surely
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! O ample and grand Presidentiads!
(I must not venture—the ground under my feet men- aces menaces me—it will not support me: O future too
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
and meat; 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 under- neath underneath ; I am sure I shall
transparent green-wash of the sea, which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my
that was not the end of those nations, or any person of them, any more than this shall be the end of my