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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.

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

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

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.

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,"

My publisher has only sent me $80 as profits on my books for over a year.

But my friends everywhere are remembering me.

It would not be the truth to say that my only friends are in England.

My spirits are buoyant and my health fair: I am indeed content."

I am compelled to admit that my Western experiences are behind all of my life work.

yesterday—"but only a very little—a shade better: though, as you understand, a little is a great deal in my

Linton once used his portrait in a book he prepared for Bohn—asked my permission, which I granted.

The minutes to a man in my straits are golden.

I seem to have only one thing in mind—only one: the book, the book, only the book—and you, who are my

"Yes I did: I never gave my assent to any abbreviated editions which I didn't live to regret.

"Is this my little growl?

Well—you must let me have the growl—listen patiently—my growl is worse than my spring."

William O'Connor used to say this was rather a contradiction between my life and my philosophy.

I know I ought to know Weiss and Johnson—they are my men, I am their man—but I own up to my entire ignorance

Ask my enemies if I ain't extreme.

anything—I was only lamenting to myself my own limitations, and wishing that I had something to do with

And laughingly to my insistence that we might try, "Yes, try, but this den does not lend itself that

My evening hours at home have been about as fully occupied with official labors as my days at the Department

Now that Congress, the presence of which always complicates our work, has adjourned, and my office is

gradually approaching a settled condition, I hope soon to be able to redeem my promise.I wish, if it

I quoted my dentist who got off an old saw while he was working on one of my sensitive teeth: "Seeing

My dear Whitman: I find your book and cordial letter, on returning home from a lecturing tour in New

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

My first notion is one of disappointment.

It's not in my line at all.

s—and when into his room, found him, eyes open, alive to my presence.

Fairchild's letter, received last night: Boston, Jan. 12.My dear Mr.

and my trumpet-call to the end of my life.Will you tell him this?

—and that my thoughts are often with him in love and veneration.

And again, "Bless her and give her my love!"

"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

Sunday Evng Sept: 2 '88 Your good letter just rec'd & here I am sending word back—still imprisoned in my

sick room—non-rehabilitated yet but middling well for all that—my booklet November Boughs ab't finish'd

—& a large vol. comprising all my stuff begun —I am here just at sunset—Love to you all old & young—I

431 Stevens Street Camden Jan: 26 '81 My dear friend I am sorry to have to send you word that I am not

unable to meet you & the other friends at dinner—I send you herewith a couple of pictures (I call it my

Quaker picture) —one is for your father —also the books herewith—also my love to you— Walt Whitman Walt

My dear Sir: Your note has been received. —Accept—for yourself, the Citizen , & Gen.

Halpine —My sincere thanks for your kindness. I fully appreciate it.

As I have not at my control, at this moment, any bound copies of Leaves of Grass , would you allow me

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.

My version of "Live Oak" differs from Parker's version in the Fourth Edition of The Norton Anthology

of American Literature (1994) , and Parker disapproves of my version, my title, and my interpretation

My essay first appeared in American Poetry Review months before The Continuing Presence came out, and

In any case, it's the later essay with my version of "Live Oak" that Parker rails against.

Parker is right in saying that I neglected to defend my choice, clearly a flaw in my essay.

NarayanaChandran"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?" (1855)"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?"

(1855)First published without a title in Leaves of Grass (1855), "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?"

"'I' and 'You' in 'Who Learns My Lesson Complete?': Some Aspects of Whitman's Poetic Evolution."

"Who Learns My Lesson Complete?" (1855)

He stirred on my entrance—opened his eyes, "Oh, Horace—it is Horace!"

"This has been one of my damnedest days," he said. "One of the very damnedest.

It has taken all my courage, energy, simply to keep afloat—simply to hold my head above water."

But I don't know—I have my doubts." Yesterday had been downstairs in the front room for an hour.

and which are my miracles?

Realism is mine—my miracles—Take freely, Take without end—I offer them to you wherever your feet can

As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight

any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my

perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my

and which are my miracles?

Realism is mine—my miracles—Take freely, Take without end—I offer them to you wherever your feet can

As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight

any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my

perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my

REALISM is mine, my miracles, Take all of the rest—take freely—I keep but my own—I give only of them,

As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight

any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my

perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my

1871 febuary February 9 My dear walt Walt i write a few lines to say i received your letter yesterday

Hudson River horror is awful in the extreme it is enoughf enough to make one shudder) i am better of my

cold but are quite lame it seems as if the pain and lameness is all settled in my left knee i can walk

but yesterday i was quite bad but i think it will be better in a day or two i have had a weakness in my

right hand and wrist you can see by my writing it looks some like yours when your thumb was so bad how

Jersey , Dec. 3—noon Dear Pete, Dear son, I am getting over my late bad spell—I have been very sick indeed

, the feeling of death & dizziness, my head swimming a great deal of the time—turning like a wheel—with

expected—& shall go out, or try to, to-day, as it is very pleasant—You must not be needlessly alarmed, my

partially well & strong enough—The doctor is quite encouraging—comes every day—& I feel a good heart yet—My

paper—I have some spurts of visits, & company—but very little that goes to the right spot, with me—my

Oct 10/91 My Dear Old Friend: My best thanks to you for your kind letter written on the back page of

week of it & this has been an exceptionally busy day—two midwifery cases & an inquest in addition to my

What a tale does my Ledger tell! The doctor's an angel of light when we're ill.

My love to you! Best respects to all your household. Yours affectionately J. Johnston Dr.

of this city contained a notice of the celebration of your seventy-second birth day; and called to my

none other than your self, and I have never ceased to feel deeply grateful to you for your kindness to my

visits to him were repeated again and again, until his death, and I know gave him great pleasure .— My

wholly passed from your memory, and to tell you that the lapse of quarter of a Century has not lessened my

appreciation of the attention shown my brother.— May Gods best belongings rest upon you.

was glad to hear from you—I am still in a pretty bad way —I am writing this over at the office, at my

desk, but feel to-day more like laying down than sitting up—I do not walk any better, & my head has

strength—very slowly—& shall yet get well as ever—Every thing goes on about the same, in the sphere of my

impossible in reality— —I got a long letter from Dowden —he mentions you —As I sit I look over from my

were men out there in their shirt-sleeves raking it up—I have a big bunch of lilacs in a pitcher in my

Jan. 3 but expect some—(or perhaps one will be sent you f'm Boston—If no other way, I shall send you my

weather-scene has changed completely—not cold, but dark & rainy & glum—Ed has been down to the bank to deposit my

almost every respect, chair, bed, &c &c—they say I have not fallen away in flesh (ab't face &c) since my

sick spell—my best strength is in my right arm, hand & side—I can get out of bed quite well now wh'

Dear William O'Connor, When I arrived home yesterday I found my brother worse than I had anticipated.

spoon, to some one wrapt in a great blanket, & seated in an arm chair, by the stove—I did not recognize my

Mother put down the cup, &c. & began to cry—this affected poor George—yet I preserved my composure, though

House —also other of my young men friends—they are all very, very cordial & hospitable—I shall go over

Dear Nelly, I send you my love—also to Charles Eldridge—shall probably remain here the ensuing week.

"Henry Clapp," Walt Whitman said to Horace Traubel, "stepped out from the crowd of hooters—was my friend

memories to you—for I have them always for you—Was prostrated down with ab't the sixth recurrent attack of my

paralysis again and iron-bound constipation early last June & have been kept ever since in my sick room

Boughs" wh' I send a copy to you same mail with this—Also am finishing a big Vol. comprehending all my

ready for binder—I am still at 328 Mickle Street—have not been out doors for over six months—hardly out my

here & see me Friday noon, Dec: 7 I am up, had a partial bath, a bit of breakfast & am now sitting my

My dear friend I am having quite a good spell to-day, (if it only lasts)—I wish you, in conjunction with

Peter Doyle, would go over to my room at Dr.

White's, & unlock the big trunk, (the one that is strapped) and take out My gray suit , coat, vest, &

My black overcoat , quite heavy—it is the one in the trunk— Black felt hat, (there are two black hats

I will write promptly if there is any marked change in my condition.

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

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.

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!!