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implicit in the lexical conversion of "leaves" of grass into knife-like "blades" in "Scented Herbage of My
my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!
, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my
face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was conceal'd —press forth, red drops—confession
my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!
, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my
face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was conceal'd— press forth, red drops—confession
my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!
from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my
face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red
my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!
from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my
face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red
On the boat I had my hands full. One poor fellow died going up."
the hospitals, Whitman dolefully observed: Looking from any eminence and studying the topography in my
"There comes that odious Walt Whitman to talk evil and unbelief to my boys," she wrote in a letter to
"I think I would rather see the evil one himself—at least if he had horns and hoofs—in my ward.
"He took a fancy to my fever boy, and would watch with him sometimes half the night.
caused something of a scandal; Traubel recalled that neighbors went to his mother and "protested against my
My translation.
My translation.
My translation.
My translation.
My translation.
As he once told Edward Carpenter: "There is something in my nature furtive like an old hen!
His and Lisa Samuels's notion of deformance has shaped my and many others' approaches to tagging and
My co-editor Rachel Price and I recently edited Álvaro Armando Vasseur's 1912 translation of Whitman's
with the famous stepped indentations of "O Captain! My Captain!"
knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth" and knew that the "spirit of God is the brother of my
camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike . . . along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Hoeing my
gold-digging . . . girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorched ankle-deep by the hot sand . . . hauling my
—have been out in my wheel chair for a 40 minute open air jaunt (propell'd by WF. my sailor boy nurse
) —& now 4pm Nov. 14 '89 waiting for my supper to be bro't— Transcribed from digital images of the original
These highly prized volumes of yours, and mine, became the latter by subscription, through my dear dead
"Democratic Vistas" since the books came, and am impelled to say to you that I rejoice greatly that my
Entering upon the New Year, let me then, my dear Walt Whitman, send you warm greeting from the Tropic
ON my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen's group stands watching, Out on the lake
ON my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen's group stands watching, Out on the lake
ON my northwest coast in the midst of the night, a fishermen's group stands watching; Out on the lake
for I am you seem to me all one lurid Curse oath curse; I look down off the river with my bloodshot eyes
, after 10 I see the steamboat that carries away my woman.— Damn him!
how he does defile me This day, or some other, I will have him and the like of him to curse the do my
I will stop the drag them out—the sweet marches of heaven shall be stopped my maledictions.— Whitman
how he does defile me, / How he informs against my brother and sister and takes pay for their blood,
/ How he laughs when I look down the bend after the steamboat that carries away my woman" (1855, p. 74
I took my lamp, and went my way to my room.
I stopped and leaned my back against the fence, with my face turned toward the white marble stones a
; and answered, "My husband's."
She looked at me for a minute, as if in wonder at my perverseness; and then answered as before, "My husband's
my open hands and thought.
have of late frequently come to me times when I do not dread the grave—when I could lie down, and pass my
loc.04657xxx.00948[To-day completes my three-score-and]1889prosepoetry1 leafprintedhandwritten; Printer's
[To-day completes my three-score-and]
"I place my hand upon you," he writes; "I whisper with my lips close to your ear."
"Whoever you are," he pleads, then, "you be my poem."
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabbed
paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-colored light, From my
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb; I should have made my way straight to you long ago; I should have blabb'd
paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-color'd light; From my
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabb'd
I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nim- bus nimbus of gold-color'd light, From my
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabb'd
I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nim- bus nimbus of gold-color'd light, From my
To Workingmen TO WORKINGMEN. 1 COME closer to me; Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;
Neither a servant nor a master am I; I take no sooner a large price than a small price—I will have my
become so for your sake; If you remember your foolish and outlaw'd deeds, do you think I cannot remember my
are; I am this day just as much in love with them as you; Then I am in love with you, and with all my
List close, my scholars dear!
mouth.—— I My eyes are bloodshot, they look down the river, A steamboat carries off paddles away my woman
beard, and reached till you held my feet."
Oh my free, proud, secure soul, where are you?"
'The moment my eyes fell on him I was content.'"
My only dread is lest my love should blind me, & my heart whisper "Tomorrow" when my reason says "Today
With yet unknown results to come, for thrice a thou- sand thousand years,) These recitatives for thee—my
Revolutionary War but the necessity for union affirmed by the recently concluded American Civil War; "my
play of causes, (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,) These recitatives for thee,—my
play of causes, (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,) These recitatives for thee,—my
Retitled To the Pending Year, the poem appeared in Good-Bye My Fancy in 1891. To the year 1889
Retitled To the Pending Year, it was included in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891) and, as part of the Good-Bye
my Fancy annex, in the so-called deathbed edition of Leaves of Grass (1891–92).
Reprinted under the new title "To the Pending Year" in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891).; Our transcription is
Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee?
published in Lippincott's Magazine in December of 1890 and included in the second annex, "Good-Bye my
characteristically, letting go of its material attributes: "For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my
is well known, as in line 7: "So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy soothing fingers on my
which was published in Lippincott's Magazine as To the Sunset Breeze in December 1890, in Good-Bye My
Fancy (1891) and, as part of the Good-Bye my Fancy annex, in the so-called deathbed edition of Leaves
It later appeared in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891) and, as part of the Good-Bye my Fancy annex, in the so-called
Reprinted in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891).; Our transcription is based on a digital image of an original
AH, whispering, something again, unseen, Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door,
utterance to my heart beyond the rest—and this is of them,) So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy
soothing fingers on my face and hands, Thou, messenger-magical strange bringer to body and spirit of
, now gone—haply from endless store, God-sent, (For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my
cm; These lines appear to be very early ideas connected with the poem first published as Come, said my
shame or the need of shame. 28* Air, soil, water, fire, these are words, I myself am a word with them—my
qualities inter- penetrate interpenetrate with theirs—my name is nothing to them, Though it were told
in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath
Air, soil, water, fire—these are words; I myself am a word with them—my qualities inter- penetrate interpenetrate
with theirs—my name is nothing to them; Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would
air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath
of the lines only to reintroduce them in Sands at Seventy (1888), under the title Small the Theme of My
Both One's-self I Sing and Small the Theme of My Chant appeared in the 1892 edition of Leaves of Grass
Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee? Down, down, proud gorge!
That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my
That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my
Backward Glance O'er Travel'd Roads was drawn from three previously published pieces (A Backward Glance on My
Own Road [1884], How I Made a Book [1886], and My Book and I [1887]).
trod, calling, I sing, for the last; (Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead, But forth from my
vistas beyond—to the south and the north; To the leaven'd soil of the general western world, to attest my
Northern ice and rain, that began me, nourish me to the end; But the hot sun of the South is to ripen my
TO the leaven'd soil they trod calling I sing for the last, (Forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing
vistas beyond, to the South and the North, To the leaven'd soil of the general Western world to attest my
Northern ice and rain that began me nourish me to the end, But the hot sun of the South is to fully ripen my