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GOOD-BYE MY FANCY. * T HERE is something at once very pathetic and courageous in this definitive leave-taking

My life and recitative . . . . . .I and my recitatives, with faith and love Waiting to other work, to

And again: Good-bye my Fancy, Farewell dear mate, dear love!

May-be it is you the mortal knot really undoing, turning— so now finally Good-bye—and hail, my Fancy.

Good-Bye My Fancy

During the pause he laughed very gently and took my hand and said: "See—I am off again—talking about

my health—as if there was nothing in the world but my pains and aches to be considered."

That eases my conscience." We exchanged rolls of proofs.

My sister Gussie had sent him in some asparagus. "Oh! it was princely!

Spent the rest of my timetilluntil bed writing letters for W. Friday, July 6, 1888.

FATHOMLESS DEEPS. 1 RISE O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep, Long for my

O wild as my heart, and powerful!)

you have done me good, My soul prepared in the mountains absorbs your immortal strong nutriment, Long

had I walk'd my cities, my country roads through farms, only half satisfied, One doubt nauseous undulating

like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me, Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft,

FATHOMLESS DEEPS. 1 RISE O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep, Long for my

O wild as my heart, and powerful!)

you have done me good, My soul prepared in the mountains absorbs your immortal strong nutriment, Long

had I walk'd my cities, my country roads through farms, only half satisfied, One doubt nauseous undulating

like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me, Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft,

have been 2 weeks in a fever of parturition & have gone over all the notes writings, & literature of my

past life in relentless search for material to enrich the book on my hero.

Please don't tell anyone of my project yet— wd would you?

But my chief object is to propagandize.

My Puritan training as a Calvinistic ministers son hindered it for a long time.

As I left my overcoat in Washington, I have been compelled to get something here—so I have bought me

Then away late—lost my way—wandered over the city, & got home after one o'clock.

& heft, to say nothing of my reputation, is doing pretty well.

Then I thought I would come up & sit a while in my room.

So long, dear Pete—& my love to you as always, always.

If my accumulation of shoes—my cast-off shoes—like wine and Old Daubs were increased in value by cobwebs

Vault Company in the land boasted a receptacle wide and deep and strong enough to house and protect my

My only sorrow at this moment is in that: its the last drink in the bottle and two blocks to where my

But first of all in its protestations of undying love—which, even to the remotest corners of my heart

It will be my first appearance in this Annual.

St was too much for me & my brain actually reels. I have never seen architecture before.

You would see your own in St , but it took my breath away.

It was more than I could bear & I will have to gird up my loins & try it many times.

If I loose lose my wits here why go further? But I shall make a brave fight.

I write you this dear Walt to help recover my self.

"My eyes are feeling pretty badly, and yesterday and to-day I consulted Dr.

I have lost my poise in walking and cannot promenade at all.

I go out every day in my carriage, and a friend of mine, Willie Duckett, a neighbor's little boy, always

I still retain my hopeful, bouyant spirits. I feel better to-night than I have for several days."

cuss did me lots of good: he left me temporarily in a quarrelsome mood: I hated the room here, and my

lame leg, and my dizzy head: I got hungry for the sun again, for the hills: and though Mary brought

me up a good supper she didn't bring the sort of food required to satisfy a fellow with my appetite.

But later, next day, yesterday, the tramp's gift got into my veins—it was a slow process, but got there

As I Lay With My Head in Your Lap Camerado. AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO.

AS I lay with my head in your lap camerado, The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the

open air I resume, I know I am restless and make others so, I know my words are weapons full of danger

As I Lay With My Head in Your Lap Camerado. AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO.

AS I lay with my head in your lap camerado, The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the

open air I resume, I know I am restless and make others so, I know my words are weapons full of danger

10 th 89 O Good Gray Poet, When I read the notes on your life made by Ernest Rhys the tears came to my

feeling of the boundlessness of the universe, of the greatness of a man—perhaps, only perhaps, it may be my

glory to help others to "justify" your work; it surely is my heart's desire.

My excuse for writing you is the sending of a book; a first utterance, called "Voices & Undertones"—it

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey Jan: 15 '81 My dear friend As I have not rec'd received the proof

In the Feb: February N A North American Review there is a piece of mine about Poetry (a good many of my

send to Mr Rice, the editor, or Mr Metcalf the business manager, & I think get the sheets—you can use my

name— Walt Whitman Should you notice, send to me In my last I addressed you at 757 Broadway—is either

Dear Pete, I am having a better time here than I had my last visit.

swimming— Mother is only middling—has some pretty bad spells with rheumatism—will break up here, & go with my

It is either $120 (or $130, I am not sure—but I have a memorandum in my desk at Washington)—I am feeling

real well, & hope you are too, my loving boy.

My Dear Sir I had the honor to recive the fiew lines you addressed to me, which was delivered by my particular

In my humble opinion there is nothing so well calculated to inspire a soldier with new courage and fresh

acquaintance may ripen into a mutual attachment The preasent you sent me I received for which accept my

Dear brother I hardly know what to say to you in this letter for it is my first one to you but it will

not be my last I should have written to you before but I am not a great hand at written and I have ben

very buisy fixing my tent for this winter and I hope you will forgive me and in the future I will do

I send you my love and best wishes. Good by from Your Brother, Sergt Thomas P Sawyer P.S. 

Or during my tedious sickness and first paralysis ( '73 1873 ) how you used to come to my solitary garret-room

and make up my bed, and enliven me, and chat for an hour or so—or perhaps go out and get the medicines

Pete, give my love to dear Mrs. and Mr.

From to-day I enter upon my 64th year.

I easily tire, am very clumsy, cannot walk far; but my spirits are first-rate.

or boat, hundreds of miles—live largely in the open air—am sunburnt and stout, (weigh 190)—keep up my

But the principal object of my life seems to have been accomplish'd accomplished —I have the most devoted

Earth, My Likeness. EARTH, MY LIKENESS.

EARTH, my likeness, Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, I now suspect that is not

Earth, My Likeness. EARTH, MY LIKENESS.

EARTH, my likeness, Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, I now suspect that is not

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.

He looked at me and seemed to see some distrust in my face. "You think I am condemning Lathrop?

I love him—honor him: if there's anything comes short it excites my regret: I judge no one."

My dear Mr. Burroughs,I have just finished your book on Birds and Poets.

accumulating thunder in my own way.

I get my hands loose now and then, and feel that I have done a little something.

Was perfectly satisfied with my arrangement of it.

revelation—brought me conviction of many stray thoughts, observations—was in itself confirmation of my

the Post—was coming upon my close—reserving for the end my sally, my big guns—as the Irish carter, who

It sat down without mercy on my Irishman's spirit.

When I told him my trouble in doing this—"Well—it was well done at last, which is the important point

Dear Friend I was to tell you about my acquaintanceship with Tennyson, which was a pleasant episode in

my life at Haslemere Hearing of the extreme beauty of the scenery thereabouts & specially of its comparative

It is pleasant to see T. with children—little girls at least—he does not take to boys—but one of my girls

nor understand the full meaning of your own words—"whoso touches this, touches a man" —"I have put my

My love, flowing ever fresh & fresh out of my heart, will go with you in all your wanderings, dear Friend

morning, & was welcome, as any thing from you will always be, & the sight of your face welcomer than all, my

Lew, as to me & my affairs there is nothing very new or important—I have not succeeded in getting any

expenses—but it is my own fault, for I have not tried hard enough for any thing—the last three weeks

I have not felt very well—for two or three days I was down sick, for the first time in my life, (as

It is now about 3 o'clock, & I will go out & mail this letter, & then go & get my dinner—So good bye,

Mr Walt Whitman, Dear Sir, For the first time in my life I heard of you last winter, and your wonderful

That was my first acquaintance with you. It was also a revalation revelation .

That is all of yours I have ever read, just enough to whet my appetite.

I want it badly but had spent all my spare change before I knew I wanted it.

it round like a barrel, as it were, the poetry was all choked out and it fell flat and insipid from my

My dear Friend Your kind letter came to hand yesterday.

I never think of you but it makes my heart glad to think that I have bin permited to know one so good

I have got my leg but I think that I will never be able to walk much on it as my stump is so short but

if I cant I can go on my crutches for they appear to be a part of myself for I have bin on them so long

I have not succeeded in getting a position in any of the Depts yet thoug my M.C. tried quite hard Gov

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.

Beginning My Studies. BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

BEGINNING my studies the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the

Beginning My Studies. BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

BEGINNING my studies the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the

My friends!

I did put it into my pocket.

Accept my thanks.

"You've said it for me: that's the substance of my philosophy.

My p. o. address remains the same. I am quite well and hearty.

Beginning My Studies. BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

BEGINNING my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact, consciousness—these forms—the

Mar 2/92 Just another line to you my dear old friend to send you my best love & my warmest sympathy God

My Dear Walt Whitman: I thank you more than I can say for your autograph in my book, and also for the

With every felicitation, and with all my heart, I am sincerely and gratefully yours Josephine Webling

Camden P M July 9 '90 Getting along pretty well—Still hot weather but a lively breeze comes in my windows—am

sitting here at present in usual cane chair in my den after my daily bath—Shall probably get out in

"My head is behaving itself right decently just now. But it's funny, how unambitious my body is.

My fatal procrastination has tripped me up at last.

"My notes are very accurate.

"I want no club founded in my name."

The effect upon me was slow, though one of the surgeons there finally called my attention to my own peril

Add- ing, after looking in my face: "Don't feel bad about it—I don't."

They may be wrong in what they say of my book but they are not wrong in their love: love is never wrong

So I wonder over Kennedy—do not quite get him adjusted in my perspective.

I get to look for Bucke as I look for my breakfast." While we were talking Harned came in.

As I left W. held my hand for a long time (his hand was very warm) and said: "What I say of my head does

I did not attempt to show him my letters.

It is impossible to say why I have not done so—pardon my procrastination, which, with regard to my private

correspondence, I am afraid is one of my sins.

Here at my work I am delighted. I like my work—I am partly on the Ledgers & partly at the Counters.

I intend giving our Clarke permission to quote from my Notes but my feeling in regard to the letter is

But I was about to say, thank the Professor for me—give him my love.

Now I am sorry—my stomach won't digest it—and there it is!

I find that so much of my food seems to amount to nothing just in that way."

the public in my literary products.And I owe it to him that my heart warms to you, who are helping him

I seek and feel after the bodily presentment of a man who occupies my thought.

My purpose was to kill two birds with one stone—get well and fix up the "Carpenter", but I fear neither

I never was so tired in my life, and am so sleepy that I drop off in slumber if I sit a few minutes in

beard grow down all over the rocks like sea-weed, and cover the sea, and my hair spread backward over

Give her my best love.

I heard that Higginson did not like my "Good Gray Poet." This is sad.

his January 16, 1872 letter to Rudolf Schmidt, Whitman wrote that Freiligrath "translates & commends my

Don't mind my not answering them promptly, for you know what a wretch I am about such things.

girls, & about Mr Arnold —of course you won't forget Arthur, & always when you write to him send him my

But, my darling, it is a dreadful thing—you dont know these wounds, sicknesses &c—the sad condition in

evenings altogether at the hospitals—my day, often.

I like Washington very well (did you see my last letter in N Y Times of Oct 4, Sunday?)

And then, "Yesterday—if I had not felt my pulse—known by its regular beat that all was right there, I

These visits are in some ways my damnation! These strangers—who make me deaf and blind!

And my sister, George's wife."

I never lose my respect for the printer boys, however they aggravate me at times."

My experience has been that they have left me honestly alone, always to say my say as I wished to say

Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows, Chaff, straw,

O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth, Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,

whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my

sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me, Because I have dared to open my

Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See, from my dead lips

Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows, Chaff, straw,

O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth, Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,

whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my

sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me, Because I have dared to open my

Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See, from my dead lips

Dear Walt: I have sent you the MS of my letter to Bucke.

The collection of my anti-Comstock letters has been positively prevented up to date, by simple lack of

I was thinking of you when I wrote the first and third of my three reasons against transfer.

Do you see my dilemma?

I aimed, also, in my contribution to the volume, to add to its interest and attractiveness.

Thy recognition of my loss goes to my heart.

My parcel and its contents will speak to thee more then I can write thee.

I gaze on the Sea while I eat my food and think of thee in the of summer I gaze on the sea, and in the

eldest Lad is now in Japan is second voyage to Celina and yet only 16 years old—my youngest is also

He I hope someday will visit your Land. my two lads I would like to see settled there on Land, only I

I already begin to think about my return to Washington. A month has nearly passed away.

Then about the Broadway drivers, nearly all of them are my personal friends.

So I try to put in something in my letters to give you an idea of how I pass part of my time, & what

which it is my present plan to do the ensuing winter at my leisure in Washington.

I send you my love, & so long for the present. Yours for life, dear Pete, (& death the same).