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Whitman Camden Dear Sir I trust you will pardon me for intruding upon you—after you read my letter—I

I am oh so very glad—but not so with me—on the contrary I am gradually growing worse—my case is called

I was first attacked in my right eye last Oct. it passed off and in April it again showed itself in the

side of my face roof of my mouth tongue & throat—I can only swallow liquid food. my speech is badly

telling me of Smith and family's removal—which quite put me out too—Nothing very new with me, since my

return—I have not written out for print any notes of my jaunt yet—I am well, considering— —Addington

has sent me a copy of the American edition of his "Greek Poets" —Ruskin has sent to me five sets of my

rec'd received a letter from Mrs Ritter—She speaks of a musical composition of her husband, to go with my

"Two Veterans"—& asks if I am willing it should be published—I answered expressing my consent Walt Whitman

In her letter on January 25, 1880, Anne Gilchrist added this postscript: "Please give my love to John

My dear and great Walt. As you did not come up yesterday afternoon I did not expect you to day.

I could convey no idea to you of how it affects my soul.

I salute you as the poet of my heart my intellect, my ideality, my life.

does not affect me much—it is not near as oppressive here as the Washington heat—I rec'd your letter my

As I write I am sitting in my mother's former room, in her old arm chair—Spend a great deal of my time

Pete, my darling son, I still think I shall weather it, but time only can show— —Mother's death is on

my mind yet—time does not lift the cloud from me at all —I want much to get to the sea-shore, either

So long my darling boy. Walt. Walt Whitman to Peter Doyle, 15–[16] July [1873]

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

Brooklyn July 9 1864 My dear friend I rec'd the letters this afternoon, two in the envelope with a note

I had grown worse, quite a good deal, & I was about making up my mind that I would have to stand a good

seige—but yesterday the current changed, & I felt better all day, & in the afternoon went out riding with my

The doctor to-day tells me my throat is markedly better—In my letter to William I told him I had rec'd

can make them out—As to me, I still believe in Grant, & that we shall get Richmond—we have heard from my

Rossetti: Dear Sir & friend; Please accept these copies of my latest edition.

address is still there—(& always, always glad to hear from you, my friend.)

My " Leaves of Grass " I consider substantially finished, as in the copies I send you.

To " Democratic Vistas " it is my plan to add much, if I live.

Indeed, my friend, I wish to hear from you oftener.

Dear friend, My brother does not get on quite as well as I had anticipated.

Yet I still hold to the judgment in my previous letter.

(Also the first letter soon after my arrival here.)

If my brother does not get worse, & no crisis takes place, I think, (as at present intending) I shall

Nelly, I send you my true love, my darling. Walt.

laying off, & of the playing of the band under Schneider and Petrola —also about City RR. men—I send my

sore & ready to have them, almost if I move across the room—I am sitting here, feeling pretty bad, my

feel better, & strong enough to come back to Washington—Still I don't know—I think it best to face my

I will certainly send you word, or telegraph—I will write Monday or Tuesday next—We have moved into my

—My head is feeling very sore & touchy & sensitive—I dont don't go out—I have re-written my will —What

"I do poorly, poorly: this has been as bad a day as any since my sickness began.

The doctor just two hours ago said my pulse was very good—I have eaten my meals today with some relish—so

the trouble don't seem to be primarily with my heart or my stomach.

I always thank my friends for pointing out any oversights that occur in my book.

W. humorously said: "Music is my worst punishment." I asked: "How's that?" "Oh!"

My dear Mr.

To these mostly my habits are adjusted.

This to give you a clearer notion—(and I distinctly wish my friends in England writing about my book

Nothing in my life, nor result of my book, has brought me more comfort & support every way—nothing has

I have sent him my last edition, to care of Ellis & Green.

Writing to Whitman on October 30, 1871, Burroughs said: "Rossetti I am drawn toward, and though my first

Rossetti, too, has always declared for me, stood by me, staunchly assented my right to my own.

more at home with my old than with my new history—than with affairs I am mixed with (if I mix with any

my eyes."

"I spoke of the defects of my memory, but bad as they are they are not fatal—some ways my memory's as

They remind me of my triumphs and my defeats.

Lancashire, England. 15 March 1892 Dear Walt, Just a line or two my dearest friend, my comrade & father

, dearest of all to my soul, to express the triumph & joy & cheer with which I think of you & with which

Outwardly sad enough, but deep within my soul I know that all is well, & that our last words should be

Be it as if I were with you, & here upon the paper I send you one as a token of my dearest love X Wallace

HERE my last words, and the most baffling, Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest- lasting

, Here I shade down and hide my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my

431 Stevens St—Camden, N Jersey U S America— Sept 1, '76 My dear friend, At last I am beginning to receive

from the bindery the second batch of my late Two Volume edition (I print 600 copies each Vol.) & send

I am now at last also supplying my English subscribers & friends their Vols.

My letter of June 26, speaking of the situation, the delay in printing this second batch, &c.

My dear little baby-nephew, & namesake, is dead, & buried by the side of my mother, a bitter cup to me—Otherwise

./76 I have had such joy this morning, my Darling—Poems of yours given in the "Daily News" sublime Poems

(one of them reaching dizzy heights) filling my soul with strong delight.

—The days, the weeks are slipping by my Beloved, bearing me swiftly surely to you —before the beauty

deep chords in the human soul when it is the vehicle of a great Master's thought & emotions—if only my

All my heart shall go into them—Take from my picture a long long look of tender love and joy and faith

328 Mickle street Camden Evn'g Nov. 18 '84 My dear friends Your kind letter (Eva's) came this afternoon

every day, I don't go any distance—havn't been away this past summer, only one short trip to Cape May —My

before I shall be unable to get around at all——General health otherwise about the same as usual—Eva, my

affairs—not much sale for my books at present, or for the last fifteen months—Harry your Mother call'd

little most every day—sell a piece once in a while—Maintain good spirits and a first-rate appetite—My

Camden 1890 Friday PM Oct: 3 —Have just rec'd another good (pretty long) letter f'm my friends in Australia

antipodes, drives deep into me—The wet & cloudy days have pass'd & it is sunny & fine to-day—I made my

breakfast of oysters brown bread & coffee—have sent my big book, your W W, & John Burroughs' Notes,

with a cluster of my portraits all in a bundle by express to Ingersoll, 45 Wall st N Y (as I heard he

literary—but I find (upon second & more deliberate tho't) I have said it as I wanted to ab't Wm O'C & my

The preface was included in Good-Bye My Fancy (Philadelphia: David McKay, 1891), 51–53.

My letters (that of March 17, in which I outline the situation & my wishes—that of 23 d , postal c'd.

It seems singularly malapropos —& in the face of my friends—their efforts there.

I ought to look over your two last letters again, & say something further about the transcripts of my

Send me, at your convenience, the papers that print my things—also any notable criticism or letter, (

Good bye for this time & God bless you my dearest friend.

August 24th 1878 My dear Walt Whitman I am not overfond of letter-writing—rather hate it indeed—I am

As to myself I am pretty well for my time of life—sixty nine on the sixth of this month—but somewhat

troubled about my eyes—for I am not only the shortest-sighted man in England—but have a great black island

However my oculist informs me that I shall not go blind, & bids me as much as possible spare my eyes,

My younger son Lionel (whom you inquire about) was married to the daughter of F.

My brain will not solidify."

Well—I don't want to assume my cure." "Why not?

I attribute much of my success in weathering this attack to my good stock—to my father, my mother: indeed

Your Leaves of Grass I keep with my Shakespeare and my Bible and it is from these three that I have got

I never met men in all my experience who caught on so well."

Loud I call to you my love!

am, my love.

Hither, my love! Here I am! Here!

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

steadily up to my ears, Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

have a favorable opportunity, by means of a visitor to the hospital, who is now sitting by the side of my

called upon me & given me a few trifles——— Dear friend, I wish you would say to Mrs Rice I send her my

the face of a friend,—I wish you would write me a good long letter, some of you my dear friends, as

a letter from home is very acceptable in hospital——— My diarrhea is still somewhat troublesome, yet I

please put a stamp on & write to me—Please give my love to the friends in the village & tell them I

Ned Stewarts Stewart's —When you write tell Ned I am here in Brooklyn, loafing around—& that I send my

fine—warm through the middle of the day, & cool mornings & nights— I fall in with quite a good many of my

you & me—no women in the house—he is single—he wants me to make my home there—I shall not do that, but

that night—My dear loving boy, how much I want to see you—it seems a long while—I have rec'd a good

loving son, & give my respects to any of the boys that ask about me.

Brooklyn, Friday, July 14. 1867 or '8 Dear Pete, It is pretty much the same with me, as when I wrote my

former letters—still home here with my mother, not busy at any thing particular but taking a good deal

letters that every thing goes on right with you on the road—give my best regards to my friends among

the drivers & conductors—Dear son, I shall now soon be coming back, & we will be together again, as my

Love to you, my dearest boy, & good bye for this time Walt.

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.

Jan: January 23 1877 My dear Sir, I hardly know through what a malign series of crooked events—absence

chiefly on my part in Italy & Switzerland, pressure of studious work, & miscarriage of letters—I should

however, begging you to send me copies of Leaves of Grass & Two Rivulets , & enclosing a Cheque on my

This is now framed & hangs in my bedroom.

I do not know whether you are likely to have heard that I make literature my daily work.

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

The morning after my return some wretch poisoned my dog & the loss has quite up set upset me.

I have not been my self myself since.

Alcott praised my Emerson piece, but Sanborn appeared not to know anything about my writings.

I got the Library Table with Blood's sanguinary review of my book.

He evidently wanted to pitch into my Eagle, but was afraid of the claws.

Feb. 27, 1890 Dear Walt: Here I am back from Pokeepsie Poughkeepsie in my little study to-night with

But few of my friends have visited me here, but here I sit by my open fire & have long long thoughts

How many times have I planted you there in my big chair by the window, or here in front of the open fire

Give him my love if you write him. I think I told you we were housekeeping in for the winter.

My winter has been flat stale & unprofitable.

mother dear, I am certainly getting well again—I have made a great improvement the last three days, & my

head feels clear & good nearly all the time—& that, the doctor says, will bring my leg all right in

showers here nights—too much rain indeed—still spring is very fine here, & it looks beautiful from my

windows—I am writing this in my room— I am feeling just now well as usual in my general health—part

just as well as ever—but of course I expect a few set–backs before I get well entirely, & supple in my

Dear brother, I am here in Brooklyn, New York, spending a few weeks home at my mother's.

I am well & fat, eat my rations regular, & weigh about 200—so you see I am not very delicate.

But the greatest patriot in the family is my old mother.

My room is 456 Sixth street.

But my letters are still addrest care of Major Hapgood, paymaster U S A, Washington D C.

(I suppose you rec'd received my postal card acknowledging your previous one, briefly, & saying I should

I shall quite certainly come on—cannot now [pla]n the time, but will write before—& take up my quarters

mention I should pay thankfully—Though badly disabled, I am perfectly able to take care of myself, & my

Rein —I am alone, in the house to-day, (except Eddy)—as my sister has gone out to spend the day, & my

My brother Jeff, at St. Louis, is well—his girls are growing finely.

distinctly I comprehend no better sphere than this earth, I comprehend no better life than the life of my

I do not know what follows the death of my body, But I know well that whatever it is, it is best for

I am not uneasy but I shall have good housing to myself, 11* But this is my first—how can I like the

, I suppose the pink nipples of the breasts of women with whom I shall sleep will taste the same to my

lips, But this is the nipple of a breast of my mother, always near and always divine to me, her true

friend Yours rec'd & welcomed, as always—I send Vol. of "Specimen Days and Collect," with emendations—My

" by Walt Whitman for title page— making two books — But I leave the thing, (after having expressed my

one made there, if you prefer to have your own as you may—Write me often as you can—I am tied up in my

corner by paralysis, & welcome friends' letters—bad cold raw weather—my bird is singing furiously—I

She is an American, & my best friend— Walt Whitman to Ernest Rhys, 2 February 1887

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

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

"This was made for me by my sister.

my singing years.

Is that to be my good fate?

idea, is still my idea."

"Next to getting out of my room here is to stay in my room and get a letter from William.

Spent a good part of today, like yesterday, up stairs—"in my big arm chair there—God bless my big arm

I have my doubts—minor doubts—but somehow I decide the case finally on my own side.

Howells, James and some others appear to think I rest my philosophy, my democracy, upon braggadocio,

I find that Ingersoll is not altogether my man: does not say all my say for me: that is, is right in

Never had I thought in my days (during my lifetime) to get a spirit (or ghost, none of the expressions

I threw my valise upon a bench, and my over-coat upon it.

My employer, Mr.

my duties during the day.

knowledge and my memory.

My country relations were not forgotten by me in my good fortune.

My head does not get right, that being still the trouble—the feeling now being as if it were in the centre

I keep pretty good spirits, however, & still make my calculations on getting well.

They are the rooms in which my mother died, with all the accustomed furniture, I have long been so used

I have written to Harry Douglas, my fellow clerk in the office, asking him to send me my letters here

My lift at the Ashton's was a great help to me—the change from the 15th st. rooms, & then the weather

My thoughts are with you often enough, & I make reckoning when we shall one day be together again—yet

a letter was received by me April 28th, (very pretty written)—but I have not heard whether you got my

I enclosed in it an envelope with my address on, in hopes you would write to me.

There is no particular change in my affairs here—I just about manage to pay my way, with newspaper correspondence

My dearest comrade, I cannot, though I attempt it, put in a letter the feelings of my heart—I suppose

The reason is that my book, which is a little more than half done, does not get along as fast as the

Andy, dear boy, I hope my delay of a few days will not put you out—Write to me, & tell me about the office

, & my friends there.

Don't forward any letters that come after Friday next, but put them in my drawer.

Once more—I send my love to you & all. Walt Walt Whitman to Andrew Kerr, 10 September 1866

—1865 June 3 My dear Walt I once more send you A few lines to let you know we are all pretty well it

letter to Hanna yesterday but I have not finished it yet but will try too to to day and to morrow if my

head dont don't hurt me I have considerable distress in my head seems to affect my eyes but is better

after I get up in the morning and wash my eyes in cold water matty is very kind to me when I feel well

part I have got pretty short I wish if you can walt you would send me enoughf enough to pay my rent

great ship Minnesota , (big enough for a thousand people)—it was all very enjoyable—the officers all my

last letter in Tribune you will see a ¶ about the , my first visit) I got a letter from my sister yesterday

be having royal times there—Beatrice G[ilchrist] is here—she called on me here—Hank, you speak about my

you— let them read this letter if they care to —I shall probably be back last of next week—come up, my

things very easy—am as well as usual—(have some sort o' bad spells, still)—am all tann'd & red—wear my

O blossoms of my blood!

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was con- cealed concealed —Press

CITY of my walks and joys!

my likeness!

, Here I shade down and hide my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my

with me—Though the rheumatism is not severe—any thing like its first attack—it still keeps its hold—my

Tuesday, (two perfect days) —& expect to be down there next Sunday— —The Staffords are all about as usual—My

Poetry in America"—(it is a Vol: Volume of Bohn's Standard Library)—It is a good collection—he gives my

third story room,—just after 4 p m—my sister down stairs sewing—it is very quiet in the house, almost

lonesome—my brother away far in Pennsylvania at his work—& no, or very few visitors lately—The weather

monday Monday evening My dear walt i was sorry my being so late last week with my letter caused you any

uneasiness if any thing was the matter with me more than common you would be advised of it my dear walter

to venture it rained here last night very hard) i am about as usual i have had rather bad pains in my

its fronting the north or south) not one word have i had from Jeff or matt or han or ma ry you are my

Dear friend, I send by same mail with this, my latest piece, copied in a newspaper —& will write you

I suppose you duly received my former letters (two)—I ought to have written something about your children

in your letter of last summer, July 23d, which I have just been reading again)—Dear boys & girls—how my

I am still living here in employment in a Government office—My health is good—Life is rather sluggish

Rossetti quite a long letter —My present address is Solicitor's Office, Treasury, Washington, D. C.

My dear Sir: Mr.

that he had brought your books with him from America, a gift from you, and that they were lying in my

London chambers; Whereupon I wrote back to him, begging him to bring them himself to me at my country

I have now just called at my London lodgings, and found them on the table.

I had previously met with several of your works and read them with interest and had made up my mind that

Camden Sq July 4, 1874 My Dearest Friend Are you well and happy and enjoying this beautiful summer?

life-giving treasure—open on my lap.

My Darling! such patience yet needed along the tedious path!

—Not more spontaneously & wholly without effort or volition on my part, does the sunlight flow into my

My children are all well, dear Friend.