Search Results

—Wishes me to invite you in his name & my own—You come here say ½ past 12 & we will drive down in my

I hope you will continue writing me such notes as these, "My food nourishes me better."

My love to W.W. J.B. John Burroughs to Walt Whitman, 16 October 1888

Then separate, as disembodied, or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation;

I ascend—I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving life.

rec'd received —I have some copies of John Burroughs's Notes on WW as Poet & Person , 2d edition, under my

Of my own works, complete edition, the enclosed circular will give you the particulars.

Fels, Jennie May, and my sister Agnes.

I went in first—he greeted me—then saw and recognized Aggie—said: "How are you, my dear?"

My friends the Staffords lived away from the town—had a farm.

and on my shaking my head: "Well—I have—particularly years ago—in younger years.

Kissed him goodby—he held my hand warmly—said "Goodnight boy—goodnight! We'll meet again!"

says: "There is some peculiar atmospherical influence which reacts strangfely upon the chemistry of my

impossible—really felt that it was out of the question—but after he had gone I turned the matter over in my

W. said of it: "My mind is a slow one—it never hustles: I don't seem to know yet what I think of the

He got up from his chair in rather painful fashion, took my arm, and went with me into the back room.

I for my part don't want to be either haughty or humble.

, who has been here to pay me a visit, says that I am mistaken, that Browning is my man, only that I

I do not assent to that—Corson does not know my appetite and my capacity as well as I know it myself.

I have almost made up my mind to make some use of the themes myself, though I don't know as I'll ever

get to them—so many physical obstacles drop into my pathway these years."

"Yes indeed—lots of 'em—lots of 'em: in fact, some of my best friends in the hospitals were probably

Then I feared it might in part conflict with my other piece now nearly done.

Asked me, "What about my envelopes?" I had seen Cohen. They would not be done till Monday.

My brothers and their folks complain of overcrowding—that I put too much on.

are—whether my head's clear—a whole army of points and points—rank and file."

Asked after certain features of my New England Magazine paper again.

Very cordial and spoke of my birthday, this day. "Thirty-one!

I had a copy of The Standard in my pocket.

At this calling my attention to a copy of Poet Lore, "Do you see it?"

"My first impulse was, to have you read it, then pass it on to Dr.

One of my first questions is always that—not always spoken—not methodically thought, even—but in a way

Called my attention to the book in his hand.

"This is one of my countless memorandum books—I have had hundreds of them—this is a Washington one—now

Bucke made some suggestions as to head-line for my Whitman essay thus: I hope great things from your

I explained that they would not fall in line with the personal flavor of my paper.

But I ought to add of this, as I would of my own writing—you are the man who is writing it, or I am,

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

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

Tuesday with the money all safe am Obliged to you for it i thought perhaps the snow storm would prevent my

very kind if she ever comes to new york New York i hope she will come and see me and stay awhile give my

indignant indeed i felt anxious to get them and went out one of those slushey slushy days dident didn't get my

feet wet but got them very damp and cold and i got such a very bad cold and pain in my face i was real

sick two or three days i coulden t couldn't sleep for the pain in my face saturday Saturday night in

My Dear Friend, The American mail arrived here an hour ago & brought me your dear, good letter of Aug

23 rd & 24 th with Sloane Kennedy's letter to you enclosed, for which I return you my most cordial thanks

Ah my dear, good old Friend if you knew how I long for those dear missives, how s[w]eetly precious &

But I have had my innings & now he is having his. But all the same I say "Happy fellow!"

But I must possess my soul in patience & in due time all will come right I enclose a cutting from "The

The practice I had in America, & the vocal exercises that I used to indulge in during my mountain rambles

working men,—chiefly socialists; so I gave them as good an account of Leaves of Grass in connection with my

To my great delight, there proved to be several men there who knew L. of G. & who were able to join with

opposite side of the river, & the sound of fire-bells & galloping horses in the distance, drew me out of my

My American trip seems to have given me a new energy of assimilation too.

My Dear Mr Whitman It seems to be but yesterday that I saw you riding on the cars talking to the driver

again, it seems ten years, since I felt the old home Your photograph greets me every time I go into my

One of my friends came in the other day & said, "you have still got his picture hung up," & I said "yes

New Mexico, has changed me so My Dear Mr Whitman that you would not recognize me.

on the prairie with no house or food in sight when night came & had nothing to do but to roll up in my

beautiful weather again to-day, cool enough, and I feel very well—It is probable that I shall not take my

beef & apple pie—had company to dinner—I have come around to the office to sit in quiet awhile, by my

twelve miles—& boats sailing—I am going up to O'Connors towards 7 o'clock as usual—I am working at my

leisure on my little book —I dont know whether I have spoken of it before—in prose—those pieces in the

ready fixed—so I don't bother with it any more— Monday forenoon Aug 17 —Well, Mother, I will close up 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

A few minutes, too, with my mother, and some parleying at the Post Office.

My father would not come here, though he went to Harleigh.

(My heart smote me: his last ride—now, into the rift and mystery!)

My daughter & his second daughter, Helen, were intimate friends, & from my sister, Mrs.

my name, & that is what I did not like to do.

the air I breathed froze me; A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me; Must I change my

said I to my- self myself ; Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baf- fled baffled ?

BEHOLD this swarthy face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon my neck, My brown hands

BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown

of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my

look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my

BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown

of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my

look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my

obligation to me, if you would present the enclosed bill and start it on its passage, so that I could get my

—For, like most printers, I am horribly in need of cash.— Do, my dear sir, oblige me, in this matter,

(my book). Glad to hear of yr your new books. Am still reading proof.

WS Kennedy I don't see much prospect of my work on you seeing the light soon, But—.

22 '87 Have come over here on a few days' visit to R P Smith on Arch street—Enjoy all—Have just had my

dinner—Mr S is one of my kindest friends.

again—the proof came & piece will be out in ten days or less —did I tell you that the Scribner man rejected my

usual with me—(a horrible heavy inertia lassitude)—write often as convenient God bless you & Frau & my

My dear Mr Mr.

Spofford If convenient won't you inform me soon as possible by letter here, of the dates of my copyrights

Baltimore June 6th 1891 My Dear Walt Whitman Please write your autograph & enclose in the accompanying

envelope I appreciate the many & favors asked of you but desire your autograph so much to add to my

—tho't it might be instigated by my tonic—& have intermitted it to-day (for the first since you sent)

—am sitting here after my supper, & shall go out in wheel chair to river side—y'r letters rec'd —weather

Camden Evn'g: Jan: 1 '89 My best loving wishes for the New Year to you and William —O if deepest wishes

, though slowly—I & many are looking more than he knows toward W's propects—Best love & sympathy to my

remarkably fine sunny day, & I went & sat in the warm bright bask of it from 12 to 1—Not much different in my

I am still imprison'd in my sick room—Please send the "Open Court" (in the bundle) to Dr Bucke —Am comfortable

Camden Thursday Evn'g, Nov: 6 My dear friend I should like to come over Saturday, be there about noon—will

the weather good, we may have a (longer or shorter) drive, before supper—will leave the question of my

Camden pm Dec: 1 '90 Cold & raw & dark feels & looks like snow—nothing very different with me—my bro:

George has got back f'm St Louis—my poor neice niece Jessie (Jeff's daughter) was very sick (alarmingly

328 Mickle Street Camden New Jersey Nov: 25 '85 My dear W R T Thanks for the $5. "remembrance."

My sight is better—walking power slim, almost not at all—spirits buoyant. Glad to get your letters.

the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world: …For my

where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my

When my friends gather from all parts in my honor, it would be a cruel, an inexcusable, slight, for me

were alone, that even the coming in any shape "might be clouded over" if there happened Friday "one of my

Kennedy's postal was that spoken of last evening (as follows) and touched also upon my invitation for

or eight of us—we were there together—in the back room—I at the head—took that big wine bottle from my

If God gave me my choice of the whole planet or my little farm, I should certainly take my farm.Mr.

I send my unutterable sorrow. What can I do?"

Harned's views are my own that Mr.

Bucke says, "My God! It was like to wreck us all!

Bucke with me to my home to see Anne and talk.

My telegram from Ingersoll relieves us all.No heart for details for Bolton.

abuses me, calls me 'accursed,' is evidently written by a woman who for some reason or other thinks my

I told him of my saying to narrow alignments: "However you have a platform that shuts me off, my platform

Published in Good-Bye My Fancy, 1891. Courtesy Library of Congress went there.

My first idea was to have the poems together, making a page, but he wished to use them each by itself

But so far these big books have not given me back my money.

July. 1891 My dear Walt Whitman, I have to thank you for your kind postcard of July 14 th received this

My heart goes out to you with yearning tenderness as I think of you sitting by the window, alone, weak

We had a short walk in the immediate neighbourhood, my father accompanying us.

"I put my Whitman work before everything else,—before my wife & family even, & no one needs to wish a

And I thank God, with all my heart, that even such a connection existed between us. .

It connects itself with memories of my mother's like condition—her only companion often a canary too.

In his March 9, 1892, letter to Traubel, Greenhalgh wrote that "Walt has taught me 'the glory of my daily

In all the departments of my life Walt entered with his loving personality & I am never alone" (Horace

The table was set for four, and I, the youngest of the party and the sole representative of my sex, had

for my vis-à-vis the ample figure of the poet clad in light gray linen, his wide rolling shirt collar

I mentioned a name that had more than once come to my mind, as we talked,—Victor Hugo.

My companion assented. I added with enthusiasm, "It has been a perfectly happy day to me, Mr.

My last glimpse of him was in his house at Camden, when he was recovering from a long illness.

make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?

rapt verse, my call, mock me not!

You by my charm I invoke.

make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?

rapt verse, my call, mock me not!

You by my charm I invoke.

But first let me explain part of my head-line.

"But I, for my poems—What have I? I have all to make .

I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you

my respects.

My enemies discover fancy ones.

I must beg to observe upon this,— supposing of course, it is my Department to which you refer—nothing

It is my rule to give notice to the officer concerned of any charges affecting his reputation as a man

more safely drawn the conclusion, when you learn that charges have been filed, that they did not, in my

"Not the least of my blessings," said W. on my entrance to his bedroom, where he sat reading, "is this

northwest breeze, which has been blowing in my window all the day long," and he added, "Last night we