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This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee, An unceasing death-bell tolls there. 3 Features of my

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

near the garden pickets, Come here she blushingly cries, Come nigh to me limber-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

refreshing night the walks of Paradise, I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; Thy song expands my

and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.

the terrible tableaus. 7 O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, Thou melt'st my

heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, chan- gest changest them at will; And now thy sullen notes send

soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future

THEE for my recitative, Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day declining, Thee

Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging lamps at night, Thy madly-whistled laughter

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

parrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree and the blos- soming blossoming titi; Again, sailing in my

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo!

there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my

my city!

Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, Invoking here and now I challenge for my

poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats, Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me, (For what is my

You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my

Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, It shall yet march forth o'ermastering

Weave In, My Hardy Life. WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.

WEAVE in, weave in, my hardy life, Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come, Weave

have communed together, Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my

Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?

States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long, Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my

soldiers South or North, As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, The war resumes, again to my

Now sound no note O trumpeters, Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, With sabres

drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah my brave horsemen!

My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils were yours.)

Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love, Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers

, are, Of this Union welded in blood, of the solemn price paid, of the unnamed lost ever present in my

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

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-color'd flesh!

To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large! To be this incredible God I am!

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

AS at thy portals also death, Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds, To memories of my mother

My Legacy. MY LEGACY.

But I, my life surveying, closing, With nothing to show to devise from its idle years, Nor houses nor

lands, nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends, Yet certain remembrances of the war for you, and after

you, And little souvenirs of camps and soldiers, with my love, I bind together and bequeath in this

earth, she cried, I charge you lose not my sons, lose not an atom, And you streams absorb them well,

, and you airs that swim above lightly impalpable, And all you essences of soil and growth, and you my

, And you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees, My dead absorb or South or North—my

darlings, give my immortal heroes, Exhale me them centuries hence, breathe me their breath, let not

O my dead, an aroma sweet! Exhale them perennial sweet death, years, centuries hence.

AS they draw to a close, Of what underlies the precedent songs—of my aims in them, Of the seed I have

in them, Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them, (For them, for them have I lived, in them my

(Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,) Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we

THESE carols sung to cheer my passage through the world I see, For completion I dedicate to the Invisible

I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong with reference

I have press'd through in my own right, I have sung the body and the soul, war and peace have I sung,

I have offer'd my style to every one, I have journey'd with confi- dent confident step; While my pleasure

My songs cease, I abandon them, From behind the screen where I hid I advance personally solely to you

Remember my words, I may again return, I love you, I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied,

I am a native Texan, but my father belonged to the Georgia branch of the Whitman family.

But you must know that I am an artist, and am able, out of my craftman's knowledge, to separate Art as

For today, my work is done. It is growing dusky.

, Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring, Or withdrawn to muse

"My lovers suffocate me . . . thick in the pores of my skin."

I sit, my gaze directed to my world map. I sing the ocean, the mother of the earth.

This is what my taste tastes. . . .

may say that at this meeting I had the pleasure of hearing several warm admirers of yourself discuss my

Perhaps in its printed form my article may stimulate others to enquire.

New York, May 13 th 187 2 Walt Whitman I now take my pen in hand to let you know how I am getting along

New York June 1/70 Friend Walter I now take my pen in hand to write to you I am in good health at Present

not want to lend me the I asked for, why Did you not write and say so—not to make out you Did not get my

of it when you was I though thought I would put you in—mind of it if I would be man Enough to keep my

I would not mind if you would give me my Clothes now as I need them very I cant can't go out any wear

My Dear friend Walt I now take my pen in hand to let you know how I am getting along I am in very good

health at present & I hope you are the same. my father is not very well at present he has been Laid

I bought some medicine for a freind friend of my fathers & he gave me the money to pay for them & I Spent

Robbins & then I will be Disgraced & Discarged Discharged I asked my Sister to lend three & she would

New York Nov 16 My Dear friend Walter I received your letter of the 29 th and was very glad to here hear

from you I am very Sorry to keep you waiting so long for my answer. we have just got done taking account

I am very tired when I get home at night my feet are very sore from the nails sticking up in the heels

like you I send you mine in return I have received the title of Unkle Uncle my sister Josephine has

Crum he weigh weighs ten pounds I am going to get my wages raised after the Holidays father has just

. /70 Dear friend Walter I now take my pen in h and to let you know how I am getting along.

received your letter of the Eight & was very glad to hear from you. we have been Stoping stopping at my

I am going to buy a fraim frame for your Picture I have it up in my room I wou ld like to see you very

Boss Mr Hawkins is going to leave the firm the first of march & my friend Oliver Allen & I thought we

I am alone at home, with my brothers—Papa & Mother are gone visiting to Uncle John's Father's-in-law.

Walter Storms Aug '75 Paskek, Aug. 9/75 My Dear Friend I received a Postal card from you yesterday.

Whitman My Dear Sir I received your letter on the 8 , & was very glad to hear from you.

You asked about my Grand-Mother, she is alive, but, I cannot say well.

I attended an Academy last winter, but, my teacher went away, so I stopped going there We are having

I would send you my picture but I want you to come & see me myself. & very much Oblidge Oblige Your loving

Walter Storms April 26—75 Pascack Apr. 20 1875 My dear Friend, Mr.

to hear from you so soon after writing nevertheless, I was just as glad to hear from you, I wrote in my

inches of snow and people rode with the sleigh, there are no gardens made yet, but I have plants in my

I am not much of a young man yet, I am 17 years old, all but a few days, but very small for my age I

soul, / I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass" (section 1).The second, related

knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my

own,And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,And that all the men ever born are also

my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,And that a kelson of the creation is love,And limitless

the 1881 edition are definitive, the annexes that appear after 1881—"Sands at Seventy" and "Good-Bye my

Whitman, I have been perplexed how to express to you my feelings of gratitude for the gift of the letter

I am especially pleased to learn from it that you share my admiration for the noble stoic Epictetus,

I have also to thank you, Mr Whitman, for inscribing my name in the copy of Leaves of Grass which the

"Boys of the College" gave to me on my birthday.

my wife joins I am yours sincerely Wentworth Dixon Wentworth Dixon to Walt Whitman, 13 June 1891

and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain

Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his

My dear Walt Whitman, As one of the College Boys who feels honored by the hospitable reception given

kind messages of love which you have so frequently sent to us, I wish to send you a word to convey my

I (& the others I am sure) feel very grateful for the act. & I return my best thanks. Dr.

The engraved portrait with your autograph on my mantel reminds me that that is another favor.

Traubel & Warry I send my most cordial regards. WD.

and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain

Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his

letters in the Trent Collection at Duke University as one of the "true treasures [that] helped shape my

"My Boys and Girls," The Rover , April 20, 1844. Reprinted in The Early Poems and Sketches, ed.

ldent shut my hand my finger were so swoln but we got along." March 26–28?

present plan to do the ensuing winter at my leisure in Washington."

All errors I claim as my own.

"O my brave soul! O farther, farther sail! O daring joy, but safe!

) For that, O God—be it my latest word — here on my knees, Old, poor, and paralysed—I thank thee.

"My terminus near, The clouds already closing in upon me, The voyage balk'd, the course disputed, lost

, I yield my ships to .

"My hands, my limbs, grow nerveless; My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd; Let the old timbers part I will

If it doesn't come with this it will be because of my being compelled to go down to Washington as a witness

If by reason of my absence it should be overlooked, pray remind me of it.

New York, Nov 18 187 8 My Dear Whitman: I am sorry that the pay for that Gathering the Corn article was

one could fail then [during the War] to admire his zeal and devotion, and I am afraid that at first my

head at nightfall, and he is fain to say, "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable; I sound my

I do not press my finger across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and

Amelioration is my lesson, he says with calm voice, and progress is my lesson and the lesson of all things

I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my

own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.

What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for

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

My Captain!)

he screams to a gaping universe: "I, Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a Cosmos; I shout my

voice high and clear over the waves; I send my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."

From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the mist, From the thousand responses in my

O what is my destination? O I fear it is henceforth chaos!"

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!"

Y.) and My Life on It as Child and Young Man…Printing Office—Old Brooklyn…Lafayette…Broadway Sights…My

I have been exercised deeply about it my whole life.)

Again he was ask'd to yield, this time by a rebel captain.

The rebel captain then shot him—but at the same instant he shot the captain.

From today I enter upon my 64th year.

. * "No one will get at my verses who insists upon viewing them as a literary performance, or as aiming

Leaves of Grass has been chiefly the outcropping of my own emotional and other personal nature—an attempt

day, there can be no such thing as a long poem, fascinated him: "The same thought had been haunting my

flashes of lightning, with the emotional depths it sounded and arous'd (of course, I don't mean in my

"I round and finish little, if anything; and could not, consistently with my scheme.

—I reached out my hand to feel the life-blood thrill beneath my fingers—I was faint with transport.

arms above my head to catch the stray sunbeams;—hugged it to my bosom transported with extatic emotion

;—yet never came before my vision sensual forms or thought found place in my imagination;—Was I passionless

—the warm, sympathetic tears that crept from beneath my eyelids and rolled lovingly down my bosom, soothing

my beating heart?

Whitman:— I have thought of you often since my call upon you the other day (and before, too, for that

matter), and felt, that although I have a copy of your works in my library, I would like one from you