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Long for my soul, hungering gymnastic, I devour'd what the earth gave me; Long I roam'd the woods of

O wild as my heart, and powerful!)

wonder, yet pensive and masterful; All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me; Yet there with my

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

longer wait—I am fully satisfied—I am glutted; I have witness'd the true lighting—I have witness'd my

Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.

me, and takes the place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed.

my clothes were stolen while I was abed, Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?

carefully darn my grandson's stockings.

How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!

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

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 rose-color'd flesh; To be conscious of my body

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

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

Is acting on my idea to proceed with circular for book.

My dear Traubel:You are much in my thought these days—days to you of trembling hope and dread, of life

That would be my last and sweetest prize, tuft, plume, gift—Manhattan Island—my first love."

But this is one of my bad days—one of my worst—and I am not up to a talk with you.

Take my love, dear boy—and take with you, too, my best remembrance to all the fellows in New York, telling

and I am still without the first show of substantial strength—though it is true the acute phases of my

"Yes, indeed, essentially knows it well: I think she takes it in—reads nearly all my books.

My forte was—if I can say it that way—in floating.

After I had written my letter to Emerson I wondered if I had not overdone my call.

My Dear Sir:Mr.

But I am tempted to try my hand on the question.

Miss Porter has been solicitous to use my Whitman-Lowell paper. Wrote me about it—date 27th.

I must off to my duties wh. await me.

so divines from my few missives.

Bucke's letter 29th very hearty and specially recognizing my occupations and excusing my silence, even

Upstairs in his room W. reading—looking not over well—yet cheerful in mien and speech—though in reply to my

question saying, "I still stay at my low ebb—these are dark days."

It was bright sunshine in my room here as long as she stayed."

splendid praise and approval.To know that a man like yourself understands me is enough and with all my

In my hands it would not have been so certain of delivery."

Sunday Night Aug 31/62 My Dear Walt, I feel just like writing to you.

I together with my dear wife have had lots of hard experiences—ill health, sickness of children and my

is my last night at home.

My friends told me my chance for a berth in the P.O. was one in a thousand.

My heart is in the war & I ache to do something. But I can't.

Dear sister, You have heard of my fortunes and misfortunes of course, (through my letters to mother and

Since I laid my eyes on dear brother George, and saw him alive and well—and since I have spent a week

The weather is perfect—I have had that in my favor ever since leaving home—yesterday and to-day it is

I write this in the place where I have my lodging room, 394 L street, 4th door above 14th street.

My Brooklyn boys were John Lowery, shot at Fredericksburgh, and lost his left forearm, and Amos H.

constipation, & bad kidney tribulation, day & night—but I am up & dressed & sitting here by the fire, & my

Baxter has gone to Arizona, & left bust in my care.

Kennedy My idea is to charge $5. or a guinea for the vol. & print it in good style.

Sometime when you are sending you can return me the article for my collection.

I keep up my spirits as well as I can, but find it all pretty depressing.

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

I have told my mother & sister about you all. I send my love to William.

Tell Charles Eldridge too I send him my love.

Nelly, I am writing this from my room at my mother's house.

My sister Martha is untiring, feeding & nursing him.

My brother Jeff is well—he is a noble young man & one to love.

Leaves of Grass," said W. tonight, "were neither moral nor literary, but were given with an eye to my

My old fencing-master, Boulet, (no better ever lived; he taught once at West Point,) taught me always

to cover my breast with hilt and point, even in the lunge, and I think of his lessons when engaged in

My aim has been to shut Chadwick up for good, for I don't want to be bothered on a side issue by this

Channing at Providence, red-hot for you, and proposing to reprint my Good Gray Poet at his expense!!

My work is extremely personal—rightly considered so—and on the fly-leaf of each volume I have put my

photograph with my own hand."

I have printed my own works, and am now printing them in two volumes, for sale.

I am living here at my brother's house.

A paralysis of the left side, which chiefly affects my left leg and thigh, hinders me.

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

Beginning My Studies. BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

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

I had my choice when I commenc'd.

My Book and I—what a period we have presumed to span!

my own distinctive era and surroundings, America, Democracy?)

I felt it all as positively then in my young days as I do now in my old ones; to formulate a poem whose

But my volume is a candidate for the future.

Camden April 17 '89 A heavy saturated leaden day—& my condition ab't the same.

N[elly]'s card came yesterday—my best prayers for more mark'd improvement—I have just sent off books

bo't in England—one Dr B[ucke]'s book specially sent for —I have just finished my supper:dinner.

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

Whitman tells us, "Ever since what might be call'd thought, or the budding of thought, fairly began in my

I felt it all as positively then in my young days as I do now in my old ones; to formulate a poem whose

My book ought to emanate buoyancy and gladness legitimately enough, for it was grown out of those elements

, and has been the comfort of my life since it was originally commenced."

But he admitted: "I am more and more sensitive to the cold: my inanimate limbs."

W., after his laugh over my repetition of this, added: "I am not surprised: no doubt I should disfavor

If you can, go in to see him—give him my reiterated request for proofs—tell him I must on no account

No man has suffered worse than I have from editors who insist they can read my proofs better than I can

I should have done it long ago—I feel some embarrassment in my neglect—for it is a neglect."

Just a line of birthday greeting, my dearest Friend.

May all that will do you good come my dearest Friend–and not least the sense of relief & joy in having

That is what I believe as surely as I believe in my own existence.

best for us to go to New York (only I want to go at once where we are likeliest to stop, because of my

Solemn thoughts outleaping life, immortal aspirations of my Soul toward your soul.

Belmont Sept 15 '89 (Sunday afternoon) Dear Walt:— I never meant my last poor postal to be the answer

to write the bk I told you of, I must bore you with a letter—just to say how'd'e, & to tell you that my

staunch little dame, my brave frau kin is going to make a little visiting tour, & will some day make

for my freedom! [Here I cut a caper] Now for six weeks of thought . I wrote to F.

My gloire di Dijon rose has grown 12 feet high in many rigorous shoots.

letter of May 14 has come to hand to-day, reminding me of your being in Armory Square Hospital & of my

I send you my love, & to your dear children & wife the same.

it is just comfort enough to be together, almost without any thing else)— I remain about the same in my

red, (though looking now very old & gray, but that is nothing new)—weigh 185 now—am badly lamed in my

am well situated here—but very lonesome —have no near friends, (in the deepest sense) here at hand—my

If I hadn't got your letter of 23d, I should likely have written to you very soon, of my own accord,

I have been home in Brooklyn the last two months, to see my mother, & pay a visit to New York, &c. and

It is now a year ago since you sent it—you spoke in that letter of your parents—You must give my love

But I wonder whether we shall ever come together again, you & I, my loving soldier boy.

I send you my love, & must now bid you farewell for present, dear soldier boy.

My condition is still what may be called favorable—that is I still keep up without having any of those

Yesterday, & yesterday evening I felt better than usual—but am not so well to-day—the worst of my case

My walking does not improve any at all.

My boy that had his eye hurt is doing rather badly too.

Good bye for this time, my loving boy. Walt Walt Whitman to Peter Doyle, 16[–17] October [1873]

London To 2 d March '89 My dear Walt Whitman, During the past day or two I have been arranging your portraits

between the lines, feeling all the time as if I can still see you in your great arm-chair—as during my

It is this impression that I must try to convey as far as may be in my article in the S. A.

So my instinct for life & the open road grows stronger every day. "Right Jack Health!"

I believe I told you that my sister Edith was with me here.

About what is called the Conscript Bill (an improper name) I hope and pray from the bottom of my heart

every man in the land—I would like to see the people embodied en-masse —I am very sure I shall see that my

name is in its place on the lists, and my body in the ranks, if they do it that way—for that will be

With my office-hunting, no special result yet. I cannot give up my Hospitals yet.

I never before had my feelings so thoroughly and (so far) permanently absorbed, to the very roots, as

Armory Sq Hospital,Sunday Evening Oct 4Dear Madam,Your letter reached me this forenoon with the $30 for my

Who put you on to my secret?" "It's not even a secret—anybody might know it who looked."

My nature, my temperament, my blood, should take me close to the Teuton."

Here was my first tally of life—here were my first tries with the lute—in that book I am just like a

for two hours on my tin horn."

My dear Traubel,Hearty thanks for your letters to myself.Johnston, Wallace & Carpenter have sent on to

correspondence, & to sympathise most deeply in all your hours.And there I have your photograph upon my

It revolutionized my previous conceptions, & made me another man. Revolution is always a bad thing.

previous environment and my own feeble self.I pour all this out upon you now, because, while Whitman

Glad you have my book. Have you two nurses now?

This suggested my remark: "Garland asked that you send an autograph copy to Howells."

I wrote down what came into my head at the time—what then seemed required."

"No—I had my doubts the other night but they were only momentary doubts.

My surprise is, how they can receive me?

Your book, always to be handed down and transferred by my clan, reached me on my fifty-fifth birthday

"Here are the proofs—but, Horace, do not rely upon my readings.

In fact, all my experiences South—all my experiences in the hospitals, among the soldiers in the crowds

Then read.Montenotte, Cork,Sept. 3, 1872.My dear Mr.

My address is as before, 50, Wellington Road, Dublin.

He took my hand—pressed it fervently. "I am in luck. Are you?

Solicitor of the Treasury, requesting my advice upon certain questions arising upon the claim of the

My predecessors have repeatedly declined to give opinions at the instance of other officers than those

Should you desire my opinion upon the law of the case, it will afford me pleasure to consider the questions

involved, and communicate to my views in regard to them.

What I may find it possible, or think it my duty to do, in regard to a personal participation in the

matter at Richmond, it is quite out of my power at present to determine; as my preparations for the ensuing

term of the Supreme Court of the United States, on special assignment, requiring my personal attendance

And then as to Bucke's warnings about taking cold, "I have thought myself that was my worst danger: I

He laughed and said, "I am unchanged about him: my impression lasts."

And to my expression, "Each spring all think must be the last, but the next surpasses it," he assented

talked of Sarrazin pleasantly for some time, W. urging me to write.Later, Harned's children, who were at my

431 Stevens street Nov. 21 '76 My dear R B I sent you over two months ago (Sept 5), by express prepaid

direct to same address as this letter, a package of some 17 or 18 vols of my books, in wrappers, with

My limbs still lamed from paralysis—but I get around yet—strength a little more reliable—spirits cheerful

That was my last. Did it reach you? Your letter of April 28th is the last I have rec'd from you.

Washington to New York, & so was some in hopes of seeing you in Philadelphia)— No change in my condition

or prospects—the young man, Walter Godey, still works as my substitute in the Solicitor's office—I havn't

—My sister has just called me to my dinner—so I will close for this time.

Camden P M Jan: 8 '91 Personal | My dear J M S If we are going into this thing my notion is to do it

My suggestion w'd be (if you feel to give space enough) to print after that "personal memoranda" of mine

signed by its author's name (now that O'Connor and Mrs: Gilchrist are dead those three are perhaps my

For some days past my mother has been ill—some of the time very ill—and I have been nurse & doctor too

, as none of my sisters are home at present—But to-day she seems over it, if the favorable symptoms continue

they are now hanging up in mother's front room—& are the delight & ever-increasing gratification of my

I too wish to be with you once more—though it will be but so briefly — Much love to you, my dear friend

is always welcome—John's good letter was rec'd this forenoon & is cheery & hospitable as always—Yes my

—I may come to New York & see you all—We will see how the cat jumps—I still remain in my sick room—tho

—This week so far the temperature has been just right here—My little booklet November Boughs is ab't

disjointed paper on "Elias Hicks" —the publication will be delayed yet a number of weeks—I am sitting up in my

I am really pleased that you can accommodate me, & make great reckoning of being with you, & of my room

, &c—but wish [to] have it distinctly understood, in all friendship, that I pay for my room , &c, just

lots of money—in fact untold wealth —& I shall not feel right if you undertake to alter this part of my

programme—I am feeling well & hearty—I wish you to read my piece in the "Broadway London Magazine,"

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

Sir, Permit me to introduce myself to you before I state the purpose of my letter.

etcher and I enclose a few notices from The Times and other journals in case you have never seen any of my

If you have such a photograph will you kindly send it to me—supposing you do not object to my etching

I must ask you to be kind enough to return to me the enclosed notices of my works.

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

Bucke calls this my 'bible.'

It is about my dear sister at Burlington.

It is written by a woman who helps my sister: my sister has jaundice—is in bed—can do little for herself

Conway always excites both my interest and my suspicion."

W. said last: "How can I ever pay my debt to you?"

"I go from my bed to the chair—from my chair to the bed—again and again—never staying long in either

place, never losing altogether the sense of lethargy which characterizes my present condition.

"I feel keenly my mental shakeup—my loss of continuity: my overwhelming weariness.

He knew of my special interest in his hospital records. "Yes—read it—keep it, if you like.

I send my thanks and love to yourself, your sister, husband, and the sisters Wigglesworth.

If I can make that much gain I may be able to do my work.

Clifford wrote today: "My love to dear Walt Whitman.

He raised his head from the pillow: "My love to dear John Clifford!

I often find myself misplacing names, things—find that I must go back and rectify my errors—retrace my

steps—review my work."

He passed slowly over to the chair, leaning the one side on the cane, the other on my arm.

"My father was always a Democrat—a Democrat of the old school." "Was he anti-slavery?"

He went on to say, however, anent my remark that nearly all Quakers were opposed to slavery: "My father

"They make quite a bulk: I gave them to my own people—my dear friends: some of them close, O so close

My relations with the boys there in Washington had fatherly, motherly, brotherly intimations— touched

My morning's round took me to W.'s.

Could then only leave my order. Wrote Creelman.

—seeing an open paper in my hands.

Imparted substance of my correspondence with Creelman.

, and so on—that is the nature of my desires.

streets, among people again—the blare, everything—I was totally blinded, almost—everything obfuscated—my

head swam, my hearing dulled—all my senses seemed to desert me.

I could not stand it—my brain whirled—was in a ferment.

And it was a revelation to me of two things: my sight is going—going markedly—and I am weak—very weak—my

W. afterwards, "I wore my new hat today. It made a great dash."