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Dec. 2, 1866 My dear Whitman: I find your book and cordial letter, on returning home from a lecturing

I have had the first edition of your Leaves of Grass among my books, since its first appearance, and

frankly, that there are two things in it which I find nowhere else in literature, though I find them in my

There is not one word of your large and beautiful sympathy for men, which I cannot take into my own heart

I say these things, not in the way of praise, but because I know from my own experience that correct

For the last two days I have felt a good deal better—My head is much better, & I feel more like myself

One of my fellow clerks has taken a seat for me, & made me a present of it—the play is "Queen Elisabeth

I am writing this by my big window, where I can look out on the water—the sun is shining bright as silver

While doing garrison duty with my regiment the 2nd New York Arty on the works South of the Potomac I

I left the regiment in the trenches in front of Petersburgh, my term of Service having expired, after

I stowed it away in my knapsack but loosing that I lost your gift.

received one letter from you but when I wrote again I received no answer and supposed you had not received my

correspondents for I would really like to hear from you very much for I formed an attachment for you during my

My Friend Hamilton started for Leavenworth Kansas last week to see his Brother, who has been jammed up

I am a married man but I am not happy for my disposition is not right.

On April 21, Wilson acknowledged Whitman's reply of April 12: "I do not want you to misunderstand my

motives in writing to you of my Situation & feelings as I did in my last letter or else I shall have

to be more guarded in my letters to you.

I wrote so because you wanted me to write how I was situated, and give you my mind without reserve, and

Dearest Mother, I have grown better the last four or five days, & don't have that pain in my head now

It has got pretty cold here the last two days—I wear my big old overcoat.

My dear friend, Yours of the 8th has just come.

For a month or so, I have not been very well—my trouble takes the form, sometimes, of neuralgia—but is

I send my love to Helen and Emmy & all—I have rec'd a letter from mother to-day—she seems to be about

Give my respects to Mr. Arnold —also to Mr.

Parker's family —I am writing this by my window in the office—it is a fine view, ten miles of river,

Walt Whitman, My Dear friend Your kind favor of the 11th inst came duly to hand, and was followed next

Accept of my thanks for both it was more certainly than I could expect from a comparative stranger to

last "long roll" is called in which there will be no "missing" may we be found in the ranks of the Captain

I have been absent on leave the past summer two months—went to New York—spent most of the time with my

Well, I keep about as stout as ever, and my face red & great beard just the same as when I used to see

you—I eat my rations every time, too—I am writing this in the office by a big window with a splendid

view of the Potomac & Arlington Heights—Well I find I must close—I send my love to you, darling boy,

A few days ago I picked up a paper through my Friend Hamilton containing an article regarding Walt Whitman

I would like very much to read your works for I have heard my Father speak a few days ago of your Leaves

I must draw my letter to a close for this time, and hope I shall hear from you soon again.

Every thing here with me remains the same—I am free from the distress in my head—Mrs.

Grayson is very sick—she sent my old washerwoman, old Aunt Kitty, around this morning to see if I had

any of "that bread my mother used to send me"—I suppose she meant the sweet Dyer bread—I gave her a

top of a hill, this house was difficult to heat, but as Louisa Van Velsor Whitman noted, "Jeffy makes my

good of them all —I have not had any trouble myself, worth mentioning—the dinner has been got up at my

The puppy thought I suppose that he could get his letter printed, & injure me & my book.

My dear Mr.

Wood, I write to solicit from you $2, for helping my soldier boys to some festivities these holiday &

weeks have elapsed since the commission of an outrage, to which I have not till now been able to give my

Nothing deepens my respect for the beautiful intellect of the scholar Alcott, like the bold sentence

Adventures of this kind are frequent, and "I took a fancy to you," or "You look like one of my style,

I weigh my words and have considered well.

He is of my own party; and my politics have been from my youth essentially the same as his own.

I keep stout as ever, my face red and a great beard just the same.

I send my love to you, darling boy. Walt Whitman to a Soldier, early 1866

coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac.

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have

my Captain!

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O CAPTAIN! my captain!

Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies.

Fallen cold and dead. 2 O captain! my captain!

I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies—as I myself do;

WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is immortal; I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is equally wonderful, and how I was

And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your

O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! O ample and grand Presidentiads! New history!

(I must not venture—the ground under my feet men- aces menaces me—it will not support me;) O present!

it harm'd me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my

AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it

if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my

poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here

only out of the inimitable poem of the wo- man woman , can come the poems of man—(only thence have my

arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them, than I ignore my

good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand provided for in a handful of space, which I extend my

arm and half enclose with my hand; That contains the start of each and all—the virtue, the germs of

WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name?

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

My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hapless War.

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

place, with my own day, here.

My comrade!

my intrepid nations! O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!

steamers steaming through my poems!

to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach; With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds, and volumes

My ties and ballasts leave me—I travel—I sail—my elbows rest in the sea-gaps; I skirt the sierras—my

We closed with him—the yards entangled—the cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have

daughters, sons, preluding, The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, Curious, here behold my

cycles, in their wide sweep, having brought me again, Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all wondrous; My

wondrous; Existing, I peer and penetrate still, Content with the present—content with the past, By my

I were nothing; From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men; From my

The oath of the inseparableness of two together—of the woman that loves me, and whom I love more than my

warp and from the woof; (To talk to the perfect girl who understands me, To waft to her these from my

own lips—to effuse them from my own body;) From privacy—from frequent repinings alone; From plenty of

the right person not near; From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting of fingers through 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 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

greater heroes and bards, They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me: It is I, you women—I make my

babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, I shall demand perfect men and women out of my

ME SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my

friend hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The

press'd and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my

and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

(I bequeath them to you, my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

To rise thither with my inebriate Soul! To be lost, if it must be so!

Give me the drench of my passions! Give me life coarse and rank!

with the dancers, and drink with the drinkers; The echoes ring with our indecent calls; I take for my

love some prostitute—I pick out some low person for my dearest friend, He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate—he

shall be one condemn'd by others for deeds done; I will play a part no longer—Why should I exile my-

self myself from my companions?

ONCE I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for future use, with its shows, architec-

over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my

Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my

songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep; Behold me where I pass—hear my

voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass; Be not afraid of my Body.

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

Scented Herbage of My Breast SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves

O blossoms of my blood!

grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

doned abandoned ; Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself any further—Let go your hand from my

it, Nor do those know me best who admire me, and vauntingly praise me, Nor will the candidates for my

love, (unless at most a very few,) prove victorious, Nor will my poems do good only—they will do just

and then in the silence, Alone I had thought—yet soon a silent troop gathers around me, Some walk by my

side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive—thicker

lilac, with a branch of pine, Here out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off a live-oak in Florida

from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it—but only to them that love, as I my

Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast only.

NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only; Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself; Not

in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs; Not in many an oath and promise broken; Not in my wilful and

savage soul's volition; Not in the subtle nourishment of the air; Not in this beating and pounding at my

O pulse of my life! Need I that you exist and show yourself, any more than in these songs.

knows, aught of them;) May-be seeming to me what they are, (as doubtless they indeed but seem,) as from my

from entirely changed points of view; —To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously answer'd by my

lovers, my dear friends; When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long while holding me by the

appearances, or that of identity beyond the grave; But I walk or sit indifferent—I am satisfied, He ahold of my

I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say of me; Publish my

name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still

it was not a happy night for me that fol- low follow'd ; And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans

ing undressing , bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my

all that day my food nourish'd me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal

joy—and with the next, at evening, came my friend; And that night, while all was still, I heard the

perfumes, nor the high, rain- emitting rain-emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, Any more than my

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was conceal'd —press forth, red drops—confession

in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied; And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my

nor the bright win- dows windows , with goods in them; Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my

your fre- quent frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love, Offering response to my own—these