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HERE the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself

do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

HERE the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself

do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

Again: "I never commit poems to memory—they would be in my way."

It excites my curiosity.

I look round the circle of my acquaintance for her equal.

He said: "Charles Aldrich is my good friend: he has ideas, faiths, which lead him affectionately my way

A great change has taken place in my life since I saw you.

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.

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.

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

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

my neck about: but my brain gives out: I feel sick and dizzy—unsteady."

slinging off my overcoat.

Have I fulfilled my ambition? God knows.

I am well, weigh nearly 200, and eat my rations every time.

I look at my three children and think what a work I have yet to perform.

entirely to my taste.

It is probably that my state is reaction from the severe work of the winter at Washington.

Told him of my letter to the Chicago News.

He took my hand.

I am a postponer when it comes to making them: I put off my yes, my no, on the slightest pretext: this

My alarm was instant.

He held my hand warmly and firmly.

I may dance my last dance any day now.

He took my hand—held it saying: I feel more and more my dependence upon you—I feel more and more that

I questioned him sharply today and that is my impression."

Upon my arrival at my destination, (at which it was probable I should have to stay the better part of

I don't know whether I have intimated, in the preceeding course of my narrative, that my nature was not

My safety, hitherto, had been from the swiftness with which my passion passed over.

delusion to smile at my own folly.

I shortly made no secret of my attachment to Mrs. Conway.

HERE the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest- lasting strongest-lasting : Here I shade and hide

my thoughts—I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

HERE the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest- lasting strongest-lasting : Here I shade down and

hide my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

evening March 8 Dear son, I thought I would write you just a short letter, if no more, as you are in my

I sometimes come to the office nights, to read, it is so quiet—and now I am sitting here at my desk,

So I thought of my dear boy, and will send a few words, though nothing particular to say.

Johnny, I send you my love, & good night for this time—the mail closes at 8, & it is some after 7 now

delighted to offer you $10 not so much as compensation for the service rendered—as an expression of my

Not having heard from you in any way I fear lest my letter may have gone astray. My friend Col.

If needful I could I think get a note of introduction to you from my friend John Burroughs — With great

Dear friend: I sent my article on you to Walsh some weeks ago—have not heard from him but assume he will

I am now bargaining with Roberts bros. thereto. — I am also writing dramas—my fourth and last is praised

I shall try to bring that out next spring— I send you my photo—it may be of interest to you—I had just

been lecturing upon your prose and the book in my hand is "Specimen Days."

enough—I get down to the river side at sunset in wheel chair & if the evn'g is pleasant stay an hour—had my

tea—(eat only two meals a day)—miss Alys a good deal —sell a book occasionally—am sitting here now in my

den in Mickle St. in my big chair all comfortable quiet out—my last poem piece was rejected & sent back

have just been reading your Monday's note for the second time—& will write a line in rejoinder, with my

out of the gurgling brook, just as I sit here, half shade, half in the warm sun, as I sit here after my

I am still pretty well,—Still enjoy my natural days here, by the creek—(but they are now drawing to a

Herby is well & brown—Shall be up in good time to be with with my dear neices nieces & all of you—I wonder

431 Stevens street Camden N J July 11 p m My dear friend I kept staying & staying in N Y (four weeks

altogether)—but took the 4 p m train yesterday & had a fine run to Philadelphia—So here I am to-day today in my

a great accumulation of letters—all those of the past month—so you will understand several things (my

going down to White Horse Saturday —No letter from Bee yet—I suppose you the Tribune of July 4 with my

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

one condemn'd by others for deeds done; I will play a part no longer—Why should I exile myself from 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

first forty-first year, I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men, To tell the secret of my

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

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

dancers, and drink with the drink- ers 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

one condemned by others for deeds done; I will play a part no longer—Why should I exile myself from my

hitherto published—from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed to my

Soul Clear to me now, standards not yet published— clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man

substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, 29* 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

hold out,—walking or like, than for nearly now four years—bad enough yet, but still decidedly better —(My

accident (I mean the victory in battles) than it is generalship— —Pete I am sitting up here alone in my

snap of the last three days very well—to-day has been moderate & nice here—Nothing new or special in my

affairs—I am selling a few of my books (the new 2 Vol. 10 dollar edition) from time to time—mostly to

English & Irish purchasers—it is quite funny how many of my books are sent for from Ireland — Love to

Now I am out here, and circumstances contrary to my wishes, will keep me here indefinitely.

This is one of my homesick days, and I have been thinking over what there is in the north that I would

When I read I say "Yes, I am she, O you wise poet," and sometimes I think I must put out my hand for

and I am sure that we have gone together down that brown road a great many times; and perhaps it was my

I am very glad my eyes found the message you hid away for me—hid so deeply, though, that I barely found

My dear old friend Mr. Whitman So many years have passed since we last saw each other.

that you remember me , and the old home on M.Street —and the dear old "Cherry Tree" " where you and my

Sevellon Brown, Sackett my son were there also.

Although many years have passed since you lived at my house and many changes have come to us, still,

hope this may reach you, it would give me a great deal of pleasure to know that you remember me and my

May 11 / 89 Dear Walt: Yesterday on my way up to Olive to see my wife's father, who is near the end of

for some time, yet it was a stunning blow for all that I know how keenly you must feel it, & you have my

No words come to my pen adequate to express the sense of the loss we have we suffered in the death of

Drop me a line my dear friend if you are able to do so.

March 30th 1870 Dear respected friend Feeling assured that any information of my doings and whereabouts

will meet with only the kindest reception from you, I venture once more, after my long silence, to address

If any excuse be neccessary necessary , let my respect and esteem be that excuse.

himself"; but I note telling you facts) and have just entered upon the study of Law; In conseq uence of my

Though we enjoyed our homeless life in Washington I think I have enjoyed my more wandering life since

a better account of your health yet, hoped that you were beginning to get around as usual, and like my

Alma Tadema the most celebrated artist over here has written to congratulate me over my last picture

It is rather a feather in my cap—and will perhaps prove a turning point in my artistic career, who knows

I lead a quiet but moderately varied life and am able to enjoy my work and possess one or two friends

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.

to hear that you have sick so long I have been sick with the Chills & Fever I have had wine to day my

20 of June so I am alone I am at the same employment yet I have plenty of work but the pay is small My

well before he went away he has been better cine they have been there they are near the Salt water my

wife is well the young Lady you met with me at the Cor Corner of Fulton and Cart Sts Streets that is my

Wednesday I went to Hartford to the reunion of the Vetrans Veterans and spent two days I met a good many of my

My dear Walt Whitman, I have just been reading your lines in the "Herald" for this morning, which hold

My adventures since leaving you have not been very startling, but they have been full of everyday life

Yesterday my good friend Cyrus Butler, a kind & wealthy old gentleman, took me quite a round of studios

Bucke's place on Wednesday, where I will look to send you a further note on my doings.

I have good news of my brother at last, & so am free to sail for England in a fortnight.

I could not have gone in any case, my wife was ill in bed & I had to go to Delaware Co County to examine

My own health is nothing to brag of, I thought the trouble was with my nervous system, but the doctor

finds it in my arterial; arteries hard & brittle, danger from apoplexy &c.

I have given up eating meat & have otherwise changed my habits—shall probably go out home in the spring

My dear friend, I suppose you saw my letter to William O'Connor, a week since, with notice of my safe

Give my best respects to Mrs.

There is nothing specially new or important among my folks—they all wish me to give their best regards

We have had cold & spiteful weather all the time of my visit here—over a month—& I have not had my usual

finds any difficulty—but I guess not—I guess he is getting along well—Is there any thing new among my

I have got out my new edition, from same plates as the last, only all bound in One Vol.

done in green cloth, vellum—looks the best & most ship-shape of any edition yet—have not added any of my

William is here—which adds much indeed to the pleasure of my visit—William has not recovered from an

Price & her girls are well & in good spirits—I am enjoying my vacation agreeably, but moderately—as becomes

a gentleman of my size & age.

Give my love to Mr. and Mrs.

My last letter to William was also to you—though I suppose you did not see it yet.

Camden July 12 '88 Thursday night after 9 It gets very tedious here—(I have now been in my room and bed

justify themselves—even for old habit, if nothing else— It was probably the sixth or seventh whack of my

war paralysis, and a pretty severe one—the doctors looked glum—Bucke I think saved my life as he happened

I am sitting up, had a fair night—rose late, have eaten my breakfast—have rec'd a good letter from O'C—nothing

Today my head thicks somewhat today. Love to you, dear friend.

He is my larger, greater, earlier self. No man alive seems quite so near to me" (280).

Feb 22. 1888 Richmond - Ind Dear Walt; Last night was my first real attempt at the kind of splurge we

I began by a ten minute reading as a sort of "prayer" or prelude, & then turned to my clay & modeled

I had your photos there—& many others, with my busts of Hicks, Sumner, Emerson, & my little head of mother—We

I wish I had photos of my big busts of you & of the statuette, negatives small size fit for stereopticon

Next Sunday's Register will print my opening remarks & give a account of the evening I shall send you

written you long before, as well as after, but have been in a wretched condition with the "misery in my

I don't improve in my back and legs as rapidly as I ought, and am nearly as lame and heavy as you are

I got a copy of Kennedy's pamphlet from him, and but for my bad condition would have written to him,

Often as I have read it, I can't keep the tears out of my eyes."

White, even at my expense! Reason, Shakespearean hostility to the subject. This is a pretty note!

Dear Hank I am here seeing to the setting up & stereotyping of my book in a big printing office, (Rand

I sent—they will give you some acc't account of two or three little happenings in my jaunt—I was down

on Long Island at the spot where I was born & where I had spent my summers in youth from time to time—went

fine very old trees)—I am now writing this in Osgood's place in Boston (they are the publishers of my

—I wish you to give my love to your father & mother—Debbie & Jo Ed, Mont, & Van—Ruth & little George—

chase them round the school till they leave go or else tumble off i have not got a tumble yet thanks to my

are right at home i think you better settle down in canada in this letter isend i send you you one of my

boats with the man of war out at the zulu war and fetched always to england now i hope you will excuse my

bad writing and spelling for my sister give me a tallking talking to for my spelling the last time she

wrote i got a letter from mother to day and she told me that my brother had broke his arm but it is

Press my last little piece —you must chew upon it a little—my inward idea in it being the least literary

or poetical , & most physiological & scientific— My last letter from Dr.

, but I believe I won't—as it is not very clear or encouraging—rather dis couraging — Ab't myself & my

My house-lady Mrs.

could have befallen me—Hot as it is, & with several kind invitations away, I remain for the summer at my

Newark, New Jersey June 21st, 1874 My Dear Friend Your Letters & papers came duly at hand.

I left New York in Oct. 1868, and me and my Brother started A Milk Depot here And we until the Spring

When we separated and I commenced to Paddle my own Canoe: I have A small route And keep A Depot.

Enclosed you will find A Card which my friends say resembles your Humble Servant Very Much you shall

I suppose this is your last production: My Best Wishes from your friend, William H.

March 6 Dear friend The days go along with me pretty much after the old sort, though I dont don't get my

did in the fall & early winter—I busy myself writing some & reading a little—am doing quite well with my

books, & have been all winter—when the weather permits I try to get out, but my strength soon fails

think of coming down next Friday to stay two or three days at any rate—a friend of mine here about my

a long letter from her last week—Susan I am afraid this is not a very lively letter—I have just had my

however, it never reach'd me—it was but really rec'd two days since)—Am feeling sufficiently easy today—my

arriving my 70th year old terminus—a good dinner, tickets ($5), toasts, speeches, &c.

than decent—tho' the jamboree does not present itself as appropriate, or particularly encouragable to my

again to-day—the weather continues fine, very mild—I sweat quite freely—had some good asparagus for my

breakfast (sent f'm my brother's garden, Burlington)—Harry Stafford was here yesterday, he is pretty

Whitman occasionally referred to Stafford as "My (adopted) son" (as in a December 13, 1876, letter to

good spirits—which would be, quite first-rate & good —but every day & every night comes the thought of my

nor disposed to be any more ennuyeed ennuied than ever—but that thought remains to temper the rest of my

Can't use my left leg yet with any freedom—bad spells in the head too frequent yet—then, with all those

I write some—(must occupy my mind.)

I am writing some pieces in the Weekly Graphic—my reminiscences of war times—first number appears in

Nov 14th 1890 My dear friend Thanks for your kind remembrance of me in your note & enclosure.

I have my youth renewed to me in the extreme delight I take in our country home.

I have caught some of the pantheistic feeling of oneness in my spirit with nature & I have not been so

I am anchored here, but it is at best a foreign port—Pennsylvania has been the home of my family for

over 200 years and it is the place of my affections.