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Whitman: "Because you have, as it were, given me a ground for the love of men I thank you continually in my

Oh, my God! my God!"

Oh, my divine Redeemer! Oh, my Friend, my Saviour!"

own husband, my first, my only love, my love forever!

"O my God—my boy George!"

boy, my George; my saved and ransomed George; my son, my son!

He examined his own experience in My Days and Dreams (1890).

Perryville—Md Feb. 12/90 My dear Mr Whitman You will, no doubt be surprised, when you see the signature

I have often been tempted to write you—to thank you for your kindness in writing to my boy —far away

Jan. 6. 1891 Dear Sir, I have just received your "Leaves of Grass &c." 1890—for which accept my thanks

criticism . . . after full retrospect of his works and life, the aforesaid 'odd-kind chiel' remains to my

White Hall, Ky. 7-9-1887 My dear Mr.

I enclose my address at Yale University delivered before the Alumni & whole College .

As but 15 minutes were allowed, I have barely been able to state my views without discussion.

I have but the moment to return you my thanks—I wish you all happiness. Truly C. M.

The Johns Hopkins University holds one Whitman poetry manuscript (a handwritten version of O Captain!

My Captain!)

Ferry" in her novel Alexander's Bridge (1912), to Whitman's doctrine of the "open road" in her novel My

"The Doctrine of the Open Road in My Ántonia." Approaches to Teaching Cather's "My Ántonia." Ed.

So anyway I thought you wd. like to know that we here (my boys & we masters) had been reading yr.

For my boys & colleagues truly yours Cecil Reddie. Cecil Reddie to Walt Whitman, 14 June 1891

Whitman: "Because you have, as it were, given me a ground for the love of men I thank you continually in my

Troy March 7th 65 Your last letter from Washington in the paper lying on my lap—Your book in the hands

of my friend Lucy who sits there by the window reading it in the morning sunshine.

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

Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively?

Aye, this is the ground, My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves, The years recede

That and here my General's first battle, No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude

I saw him at the river-side, Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation; My General

But when my General pass'd me, As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something

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

Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively?

Aye, this is the ground, My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves, The years recede

That and here my General's first battle, No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude

I saw him at the river-side, Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation; My General

But when my General pass'd me, As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something

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

.; Reprinted in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891).; Published with the subtitle "For unknown buried soldiers,

Revised and reprinted in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891).

dear brothers' and sisters' sake, for the soul's sake, Wending my way through the homes of men, rich

words, mine only, Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin'd myself to an early death; But my

charity has no death—my wisdom dies not, neither early nor late, And my sweet love bequeath'd here and

of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles, (Though it was thought I was baffled and dispel'd, and my

side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, Nor time nor change shall ever change me or my words. 4

dear brothers' and sisters' sake, for the soul's sake, Wending my way through the homes of men, rich

words, mine only, Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin'd myself to an early death; But my

charity has no death—my wisdom dies not, neither early nor late, And my sweet love bequeath'd here and

of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles, (Though it was thought I was baffled and dispel'd, and my

side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, Nor time nor change shall ever change me or my words. 4

dear brothers' and sisters' sake—for the soul's sake; Wending my way through the homes of men, rich

children—with fresh and sane words, mine only; Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my

- self myself to an early death: But my Charity has no death—my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late

, And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies. 3 Aloof, dissatisfied, plotting revolt

side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, Nor time, nor change, shall ever change me or my words.

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!

response, Take what I have then, (saying fain,) take the pay you approached for, Take the white tears of my

COME closer to me, Push closer, my lovers, and take the best I possess, Yield closer and closer, and

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 outlawed 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

friendly companions, I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do of men and women

New 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 me flies, suspended,

, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars —on the firm earth, the lands, my

less in myself than the whole of the Manna- hatta Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my

ever united lands —my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more

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

Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait

own Soul or defiled my body, I have claimed nothing to myself which I have not carefully claimed for

sake, Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my

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

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

and let one line of my poems contradict another! Let the people sprawl with yearning aimless hands!

Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!

WITH antecedents, With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages, With all which, had

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.

SPLENDOR of falling day, floating and filling me, Hour prophetic—hour resuming the past, Inflating my

Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully

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

How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead!

sailed down the Mississippi, As I wandered over the prairies, As I have lived—As I have looked through my

The Daily Tribune Denver, Colorado, Mch 27th 187 8 Mr Walt Whitman My Dear Sir I am one of those ubiquitous

Now if you could take a peep into my album, which I have been over fifteen years in making, and see my

If you have made a rule never to reply to requests of this kind, please make an exception in my case

I have looked so long for that autograph copy of "My Captain," for "a place of honor," in my collection

Aldrich wanted an autograph copy of Whitman's poem "O Captain! My Captain!."

"O Captain! My Captain!"

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

Whitman eventually did furnish Aldrich with a manuscript copy of "O Captain!

Whitman; You know how hard I have tried to get the autograph copy of "My Captain," for our Iowa Collection

inches—is now devoted to memorials of yourself, but I am most anxious to secure a holograph copy of "My

Captain," while you can still write it & I can fitly arrange it in my collection, which, you are aware

Aldrich wanted an autograph copy of Whitman's poem "O Captain! My Captain!."

"O Captain! My Captain!"

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

Whitman eventually did furnish Aldrich with a manuscript copy of "O Captain!

Walt Whitman Esquire My Dear Sir: I take pleasure in soliciting your literary cooperation in an enterprise

way: but as to writing about novelists, novels, English, American, any other—God help me: I can't see my

way to it . . . what he proposes is out of my line . . .

Jan 21 1881 Walt Whitman My dear Sir Permit me to thank you on behalf of the readers of the Review for

be able to afford to the readers of the Review frequent opportunity of being instructed by you I am my

sixty-five poems that had originally appeared in November Boughs (1888); while the second, "Good-Bye my

guarantee that at the business meeting at 8 o'clock you would be elected & at nine you could come in, as my

I want your name to head the list, not merely because of my esteem for you personally, but because of

I am a young man—a Californian—my home being in Los Angeles— and always your steadfast admirer Chas F

—I am yet young but have had more experience for my age than many Desiring to thoroughly understand the

work I have undertaken I make these inquiries—My dearest wish is like Burns'— "That I for poor Columbia's

Cape May July 21/91 Dear Mr Whitman "Good Bye my Fancy" came announcing in your proper hand that it was

thyself and love the Truth for itself" I have written enough to tell you that I cannot explain to you my

debt so my creditor you must remain Sincerely Yours C G Garrison Charles G.

Whitman's book Good-Bye My Fancy (1891) was his last miscellany, and it included both poetry and short

Thirty-one poems from the book were later printed as "Good-Bye my Fancy" in Leaves of Grass (1891–1892

For more information see, Donald Barlow Stauffer, "'Good-Bye my Fancy' (Second Annex) (1891)," Walt Whitman

Excuse all mistakes an Bad Writing Also Excuse mi shoart letter this tim an i will try and Do Better in my

Now, at Chicago, I have just bought "Good-Bye My Fancy," and renew the acquaintance.

ferry: "I don't know what I should do without the ferry, & river, & crossing, day & night—I believe my

Whitman's book Good-Bye My Fancy (1891) was his last miscellany, and it included both poetry and short

Thirty-one poems from the book were later printed as "Good-Bye my Fancy" in Leaves of Grass (1891–1892

For more information see, Donald Barlow Stauffer, "'Good-Bye my Fancy' (Second Annex) (1891)," Walt Whitman

June 17 th , 68 My dear Walt, Your letter of inquiry and of the good old feeling has this moment reached

My heart warms towards Mr. Burroughs for his friendly words. I know I should love to meet him.

Don't fail my dear friend to call on me when you come to New York.

My dear old friend I love you—I shall be proud to hear from you at all times, and quick to reply— Charles

My picture, of which I sent you a notice will rest in somnolence during the summer.

My Dear Walt Through the stupidity of Lewis I did not receive the dispatch until late in the afternoon

I went directly to my frame makers, the frame will be done to-morrow, (it is a beauty) and if you wish

It is my wish it should be seen in Boston. Let me know how you propose to introduce it.

How long have I been a stranger to this foreign land in which I have wandered—foreign, and yet within my

at times, that I am forced to quit my painting and take to the street: and then she assumes jealousy

, and during my absence ransacks my papers, trunks and portfolios for scraps of poetry, composition of

a date that have past my memory, and these she brings forward and reads to me, and berates me with,

She smells my coat, when I come home, my gloves, my handkerchief and declares that I have been abed somewhere

Half my time is passed in gardening, and portions the rest waiting upon her, from the grocery.

brother, Walt, sends us a dollar, at times 2 every few days—and sometime since, sent 5 by mail—which with my

Bliss , rectory Episcopal church—he expressed great sympathy for me; in my straitend circumstances, and

placed a 5 dollar bill, in my hand, as he has done once before, this winter, which got me 1/2 ton of

I would much rather paint, could I sell my pictures.

My condition is drawing genera l attention, and the old querie query is asked me; "has she no friend?

Respecting public opinion of my services toward her, a neighbour neighbor of twenty years lately remarked

I am quite poorly—grippe—attacks my stomach—yet I succeed in managing the fires, and keep the house comfortable