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In a the garden, the world, I, a new Adam, again wander, Curious, here behold my resurrection after ages
is wondrous—I am myself most wondrous, The All is I have con I exist, I peer and penetrate still, By my
pass death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed babe . . . . and am not contained between my
Have I hasten to inform you it is just as good to die, and I know it; I know it For I take my death with
the dying, And my birth with the new-washed babe Whitman probably drafted this manuscript in the early
pass death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed babe . . . . and am not contained between my
These were my first years with Emerson, and the questions provoked by my confession of this fact would
He lifted my common experience into biblical sanctity, and impelled my whole life to expanding issues
He thoroughly respected my autonomy, never once crossing my transactions with printer or binder.
Can I have won my battle after all?...
If I go there with a magazine under my arm, or a paper in my pocket, he is quite likely to ask me to
It is my own spirit, my own feeling—to accept and try and listen, and don't be too quick to reject, and
my fig tree.
I ask myself more than a little if my best friends have not been women. My friend Mrs.
My attempt at "Leaves of Grass"—my attempt at my own expression—is after all this: to thoroughly equip
Eyre .— I want to call attention to "My Captain," a poem which has in it the element of the dramatic
In a line added in 1860 Whitman speaks of the burden of speech as "the secret of my nights and days,"
hitherto publish'd—from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my
Soul; Clear to me, now, standards not yet publish'd—clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man
substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, Afternoon, this delicious Ninth-month, in my
first forty-first year, I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men, To tell the secret of my
publish'd—from the pleasures, profits, eruditions, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my
soul; Clear to me, now, standards not yet publish'd—clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man
substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, Afternoon, this delicious Ninth-month, in my
forty-first year, I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men, To tell the secret of my nights
hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my
soul, Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my soul, That the soul of the man
substantial life, Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my
forty-first year, I proceed for all who are or have been young men, To tell the secret of my nights
hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my
soul, Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my soul, That the soul of the man
substantial life, Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my
forty-first year, I proceed for all who are or have been young men, To tell the secret of my nights
These words are for the five or six grand poets, too; and the masters of artists: — I waste no ink, nor my
receive you, and attach and clasp hands with you, / The facts are useful and real . . . . they are not my
though I lie so sleepy and sluggish, my tap is death" (1855, p. 74).
though I lie so sleepy and sluggish, my tap is death" (1855, p. 74).
man who claims or takes the power to own another man as his property, stabs me in that the heart of my
own The one scratches me a little on the cheek forehead , the other draws his murderous razor through my
t T hat black and huge lethargic mass, my sportsmen, dull and sleepy as it seems, has holds the lightning
eventually titled "Song of Myself": "Buying drafts of Osiris and Isis and Belus and Brahma and Adonai, / In my
This is a draft of the essay Whitman later published as American National Literature in Good-Bye My Fancy
Bear forth to them, folded, my love —(Dear mariners!
for you I fold it here, in every leaf;) Speed on, my Book!
spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the imperious waves!
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my
spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my
spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Calhoun, "I have noticed a change in the light since we came."
by a collector or archivist to a backing sheet, together with And there, 'The Scout', and Drops of my
the title of a Book, the title or description of which is in the following words, to wit: GOOD-BYE MY
work, books especially, has pass'd; and waiting till fully after that, I have given (pages 423-438) my
The table was set for four, and I, the youngest of the party and the sole representative of my sex, had
for my vis-à-vis the ample figure of the poet clad in light gray linen, his wide rolling shirt collar
I mentioned a name that had more than once come to my mind, as we talked,—Victor Hugo.
My companion assented. I added with enthusiasm, "It has been a perfectly happy day to me, Mr.
My last glimpse of him was in his house at Camden, when he was recovering from a long illness.
In 1644 Captain John Underhill led forces against a group of American Indians, killing about 120.
.”; In 1644 Captain John Underhill led forces against a group of American Indians, killing about 120.
that when he spoke of immortality he meant "identity—the survival of the personal soul—your survival, my
God, love, and death become virtually synonymous.The second entry in "Calamus," "Scented Herbage of My
is as untenable as our own famous saying—"A little more grape, Captain Bragg!"
nature shrinking from thy rough embrace, Than summer, with her rustling robe of green, Cool blowing in my
delight; Even the saint that stands Tending the gate of heaven, involved in beams Of rarest glory, to my
No mesh of flowers is bound about my brow; From life's fair summer I am hastening now.
And as I sink my knee, Dimpling the beauty of thy bed of snow, Dowerless, I can but say, O, cast me not
Dear Sir, Admiring you so much, my cousin and I have ventured to write and ask whether you will be kind
.— what my touch wanted any thing whatever I wanted.— Surely I am out of my head!
I am lost to myself and someth something else Nature in another form has laid down in my place.
4 To me I subject all the teachings of the schools, and all dicta and authority, to my the tests of myself
And myself,—and I encourage you to subject the same to the tests of yourself—and to subject me and my
pressing home . . . of all that could be said against that part (and a main part) in the construction of my
ever more complete or convincing, I could never hear the points better put—and then I felt down in my
soul the clear and unmistakable conviction to disobey all, and pursue my own way" (Whitman 281).
beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my
As I see my soul reflected in nature; As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible com- pleteness
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot con- ceal conceal themselves. 9 O my Body!
likes of the Soul, (and that they are the Soul;) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my
instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my
beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my
As I see my soul reflected in nature; As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible com- pleteness
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. 9 O my Body!
likes of the Soul, (and that they are the Soul;) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my
instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my
beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my
As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. 9 O my body!
likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my
poems, and that they are my poems, Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's, father's
beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my
As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. 9 O my body!
likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my
poems, and that they are my poems, Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's, father's
leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my
room; It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little
leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my
room; It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little
upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my
room, It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little
upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my
room, It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little
night walkers And do no better for me— Who am a regular gentlemen or lady, With a marble broad stoop to my
And is the day here when I vote at the polls, One with the immigrant that last August strewed lime in my
Bibles i are divine revelations of God But I know say that any each leaf of grass and every hair of my
compiled composed is not august enough to dent endow answer tally a leaf of grass the partition of in my
. / I intend to reach them my hand and make as much of them as I do of men and women" (1855, p. 64).;
first several lines of that poem (not including the line in question) were revised and published as My
first poem of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass , later called "Song of Myself": "I do not trouble my
The first several lines of the notebook (not including this line) were revised and published as "My Picture-Gallery
just granting his request, with great commiseration, when an old lady from the gallery cries out "O my
122ucb.00014xxx.00812xxx.00814I just spin out my notes[I just spin out my notes]1876–1882prose1 leafhandwritten
[I just spin out my notes]
Italian tenor, singing at the opera —I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; …Heart of my
—you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head; Heard the pulse of you, when
all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.
Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; Heart of my
you too I heard murmuring low through one of the wrists around my head, Heard the pulse of you when all
was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.
Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; Heart of my
you too I heard murmuring low through one of the wrists around my head, Heard the pulse of you when all
was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.
Italian tenor, singing at the opera—I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; …Heart of my
—you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head; Heard the pulse of you, when
all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.
My Life. London: Victor Gollancz, 1928.Miller, James E., Jr. A Critical Guide to "Leaves of Grass."
Richard Maurice Bucke, one of his literary executorsI have found my authority hereabout 1879prose1 leafhandwritten
I have found my authority here
Compare these lines from that edition: "I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer
I entertain all the aches of the human heart Outside the asteroids I reconnoitre at my ease.
Compare these lines from that edition: "I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer
My Soul and I: The Inner Life of Walt Whitman. Boston: Beacon, 1985.Chase, Richard.