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more foolish than the rest of the volume:— "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my

The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness, after the rest, and true as any, on the

I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run-away sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it

To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose-coloured flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous

Have you learned the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, pride, freedom, friendship, of my land

Earth of the limpid grey of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed Earth!

since, after the closest inquiry, "I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones."

If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some the spread of my own body."

As for Mine, Mine has the idea of my own, and what's Mine is my own, and my own is all Mine and believes

in your and my name, the Present time. 6.

I lie in the night air in my red shirt—the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted

look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books : ; "You shall not look through my

beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough; To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my

I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you

my respects.

The air tastes good to my palate.

Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art?

Another song on the death of Lincoln, "Oh Captain! My Captain!"

make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reporduce all in my

For the great Idea, That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets.

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

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from

stuck up, and am in my place.

Now comes a passage remarkable for its nobility: "With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums

I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

are famous everywhere; and, though later efforts have been less happy, the one exquisite song, "O, Captain

My Captain!" written on the death of Lincoln, would make him one of our honored poets forever.

future," "You do not understand me, you cannot understand me, but I can wait hundreds of years for my

— The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.

"Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just

O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN! O Captain, my Captain!

O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain, my Captain, rise up and hear the bells.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse

Exult O shores, and ring O bells, But I with mournful tread Walk the deck my Captain lies, To analyze

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

do I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you, do my

"The chief end I purpose to myself in all my labours," wrote Dean Swift, "is to vex the world rather

and flows": "This day, before dawn, I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my

And my spirit said ' No .'"

suddenly,—reservedly, with a beautiful paucity of communication, even silently, such was its effect on my

If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.

My Soul and I: The Inner Life of Walt Whitman. Boston: Beacon, 1985. Feehan, Michael.

Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march?

I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum, And I knew for my consolation

what they knew not, And I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear

she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, limber-hipp'd man, and give me your finger and thumb, Stand at my

upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to 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

My dear sir, Having an opportunity to send by Miss Lowe the $20. From H. Lee, & B.

My dear sir, I was very glad to hear of the receipt of the check I sent you & to know that it had already

system, but without effect— I have received twenty dollars here to be forwarded to you, ($10 cash from my

to experience a region that had long been vividly alive in his imagination: "I have found the law of my

24 May 1889 My sir.

I pray then you to rec to my a copy.

My dear friend I am too sorry that you are not well enough to see me, but I trust I may be able to do

old shoe with me, with which I wanted to inspire you to write me some verses — It was once worn by my

much.— May our Heavenly Father spare both you & I for sometime yet Truly your friend Lavinia F Whitman My

Walt Whitman Esq— 2337 N. 18th St, Phila Nov 3rd— My dear, dear friend I am so charmed with the account

two congenial, noble men — I myself feel honored to have known you & proudly regard you, as one of my

childrens names & a member of the Whitman family, whom my noble, grand, old father-in-law would have

Traubel, With Walt Whitman in Camden, Thursday, September 12, 1889 and Saturday, September 14, 1889: "My

Whitman Esq Feb 24.1890 My dear, venerable friend It was my intention to have noted my recent call upon

you, with my expressions of the great pleasure that visit had given me, but I have been prevented doing

so, from having taken cold in my eyes, subjecting me to a sort of vagabond life for the past week.

delighted to have you acknowledge this note, if you feel, it will not be a task— Accept dear friend, my

Whitman 1740 N. 15th st.Phila My father was John F.

Walt Whitman My dear friend, much do I regret to hear of your increased illness—yet, let us hope for

in reading "John Russell Youngs reminiscences of Walt Whitman " as published in last evn'gs Paper, my

Such we shall pray & hope for—I have always longed to hear you recite "Captain, Oh, My Captain," & may

Whitman's poem "O Captain! My Captain!

"O Captain! My Captain!"

For more information on the poem, see Gregory Eiselein, "'O Captain! My Captain!'

My dear Madam Kindly send apace—address as asked for on Enclosed sheet.

January 29th 1891 My dear Sir If there is a wounding word in the "Overland" article in which I speak

Mr Whitman, Dear Sir, My friend & yours Mr Joaquin Miller tells me that the best way to gratify a long-cherished

greatest men of our age both abroad & at home; & when I remember your work during our dreadful war, my

heart as well as my pride is touched, & I cannot though a stranger to you, forbear presenting to the

true man a nobler title even than that of the true poet, my profoundest respect & admiration— With sincere

I was alone, the family of my host having gone on some visit to a neighbor.

Insensibly, my consciousness became less and less distinct; my head leaned back; my eyes closed; and

my senses relaxed from their waking vigilance.

The person to whom I spoke stared in my face surprisedly.

"Himself hung it around my neck," said the veteran.

.— When my little friend Tom Thumb, travelled with the circus he stood behind the stand, in a Missouri

constituted true democracy, yet again lauded his poetry for its "bigness and naïvety" and singled out "My

Captain, O my Captain" [sic] as "surely one of the most tender and beautiful poems in any language"

latter years, when asked how he could have done so much, he replied, "Have I not spent fifty years at my

One of those children was five-year-old Walt Whitman, who, as he recorded in "My First Reading—Lafayette

"My First Reading—Lafayette." Specimen Days. Vol. 1 of Prose Works 1892. Ed. Floyd Stovall.

Purport" (1891)First published in the last section of Leaves of Grass supervised by the author ("Good-Bye my

peering, dallying with all—war, peace, day and night absorbing, Never even for one brief hour abandoning my

I sing of life, yet mind me well of death: To-day shadowy Death dogs my steps, my seated shape, and has

Sep. 16th 189 1 My Dear Walt Whitman For the sake of the good your works & life have done me I should

the sea—but—I found a family affair, which caused me some astonishment & some pain which took up all my

You will excuse my putting Esqr after your name—I consider it would be out of place; and a mere empty

I would send you a volume of poems of my own, but they are very juvenile; and I would rather not be known

My wife & I would both be delighted if you could come and stay with us so long as might suit you.

Whitman referred to Rossetti's edition as a "horrible dismemberment of my book" in his August 12, 1871

could be offered for them, as the Magazine has been neglected of late, and has only recently come into my

My dear Sir.

has hitherto hindered me from sending a frank message of love and thanks to you, in the thought that my

That overwhelming outburst of spirit was the first thing to stamp my nature.

My first coherent memory is of the Brooklyn 14 th Regiment recruiting on Fort Green in 1861.

My dear Uncle Walt: I thought you would like to see your little Kittie's face so send my photograph wishing

(from my dear friend, Little Kitty (14 yr's old) daughter of my friend Johnston the jeweler—with very

11.27—1891 My dear friend Walt Whitman, I want, before you go beyond reach of such messages, to send

you my love and admiration and thanks.

Bless you, dear Walt,—& I wish that I might bear all your bodily pain & weakness upon my own strong young

perhaps to receive a note from one whose name even you do not know, but I have long had you down in my

heart as one of my friends, and will tell you all about how I came to write to you now.

Last week I had a letter from my friend Miss M. E.

Often when I am reading it I take the words right home to my heart, and feel stronger and better for

friend forever, though I may never see his face, and this must be my excuse now.

Mendocino Co., California Aug. 2. 1877 Walt Whitman My beloved.

I know it was especially for me You will take my kisses and love as from me that knows you and can never

John Burroughs more than any one anyone that I know, fitly expresses my thought of you.

never met that seemed to have the faintest understanding of you so I keep you all to myself locked in my

My dear Sir; The translations of your poems are now ready for the printer and the MS will sail for Europe

New York Sept 14 '83 My dear Sir; Dr.

I am at present very busy as I want to complete my critical history of American literature as soon as

My health is some better than it was when I left the Hospital, but I am not well by a good deal and I

Mr Whitman Dear Sir I once more take my pen in hand to write a few lines to you And if I dont get an

Yours Truly I have my Photograph when I receive yours I will send you Give my respects to Mrs.

there from Saturday night until Monday morning before any train left I dont think I ever was so sick in my

with your office I am in hopes you have recd it before this time I begun to think that your office & my

discharge had gone to the same place now I have got my papers I think you had ought to receive yours

I cant write any more this time my hand trembles so I can hardly write but I will try & do better next

time give my best respects to Mr & Mrs O Connor.

Of the O'Connors, Thomas Jefferson Whitman wrote on June 13, 1863: "I am real glad, my dear Walt, that

Department What has become of Mr OConnors People are they still in washington if they are give them my

you will I shall be very much obliged If this letter gets to you and I receive an ans I will send you my

here is this old Africa & very unhappy send a message to you in America who are helping me to bear my

They were among the last things we ever read together but a few weeks ago in England when my life seemed

I am reading your poems now again alone & in the bitterness of my heart in this place to which I have

come to struggle with my sorrow.

dead love & my living grief.

London Saturday 23 Sept. 1876 Dear Walt Whitman I have received your volume and thank you heartily My