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has yet to be known; May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) as from my
grave illness, I gather up the pieces of prose and poetry left over since publishing a while since my
For some reason—not explainable or definite to my own mind, yet secretly pleasing and satisfactory to
And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!
Thee for my recitative!
Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music!
The only American prophet to my knowledge who enjoys a fame in England not accorded him in his own country
, strolling tides, Companions, travelers, gossiping as they journey; And he sends it out 'partly as my
And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!
Thee for my recitative!
Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music!
Evidently very intelligent and well-bred—very affectionate—held on to my hand, and put it to his face
communed to- gether together Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my
Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance
That sport'st amid the lightning flash and thunder cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my
There is a lawless saying, fit only for the wise, but full of meaning for poets and great captains,—
I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of sum- mer summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from
stuck up, and am in my place.
Now comes a passage remarkable for its nobility: "With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums
I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
are famous everywhere; and, though later efforts have been less happy, the one exquisite song, "O, Captain
My Captain!" written on the death of Lincoln, would make him one of our honored poets forever.
future," "You do not understand me, you cannot understand me, but I can wait hundreds of years for my
— The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
"Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just
Whitman's poems, though possessing individuality of their own: "Primary chief bard am I to Elphin, And my
I was with my Lord in the highest sphere, On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell; I have borne
been in Asia with Noah in the ark; I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; I have been with my
whole universe; I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth; And it is not known whether my
Echoes of camps, with all th[gap] Trooping tumultuous, all[gap] bending me powerless[gap] Entering my
O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN! O Captain, my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain, my Captain, rise up and hear the bells.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
Exult O shores, and ring O bells, But I with mournful tread Walk the deck my Captain lies, To analyze
For illustration, he gives utterance to phrases like this: "I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it
He himself says, "Nor will my poems do good only, they will do just as much harm, perhaps more."
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in
I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can
; No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;— I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no
man to a dinner-table, library, exchange; But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My
knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my
own And I know that the Spirit of God is the brother of my own And that all the men ever born are also
my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers And that a kelson of the creation is love." . . . .
this "After the Dazzle of Day": "After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my
eye the stars; After the clangor of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul
People who know absolutely nothing of his writing, either prose or verse, who have not read even "O Captain
, My Captain," do not hesitate to assail him, to excoriate him, to blackguard him with a vehemence which
I will also want my utterances to be in spirit poems of the morning.
I have wished to put the complete union of the states in my songs without any preference or partiality
Then the simile of my friend, John Burroughs, is entirely true, 'his glove is a glove of silk, but the
captain!
Leave you not the little spot Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O captain, my captain, rise up and hear the bells; Rise up, for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm—he has no pulse
But I, with silent tread Walk the spot my captain lies We have quoted enough, we think, even in these
. ∗ ∗ ∗ The successive growth-stages of my infancy, childhood, youth and manhood were all pass'd on Long
–49) and I split off with the Radicals, which led to rows with the boss and 'the party,' and I lost my
And then such lapses as these: By my great oak—sturdy, vital, green—give feet thick at the butt.
An hour or so after breakfast I wended my way down to the recesses of the aforesaid dell ∗ ∗ ∗ It was
just the place and time for my Adamic air-bath and flesh-brushing from head to foot.
Me, master, years a hundred since from my parents sundered.
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
He explains his inspiration thus: Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It
He explains the limit of his happiness: I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To
touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand .
Whenever he does this he writes lines that will live—notably, his "O Captain, my Captain," inspired by
my Captain! our fearful trip is done.
Leave you not the little spot Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain! rise up and hear the bells! Rise up!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still: My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I, with silent trade, Walk the spot my Captain lies, In this and in "President Lincoln's Funeral
my captain! our fearful trip is done!
Leave you not the little spot Where on the deck my captain lies, Fallen Cold and Dead. O captain!
my captain! rise up and hear the bells! Rise up!
My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I, with silent tread, Walk the spot; my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
results—and I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death; And I will thread a thread through my
their dead songs about dead Europe, and its stupid monks and priests, its chivalry, and its thing a-my-bobs
So says Walt Whitman in a foot-note to the little volume which he has just put forth ("Good-bye, my Fancy
Here is his poetical good bye:— Good-bye my Fancy! Farewell dear mate, dear love!
my Fancy.
Essentially my own printed records, all my volumes, are doubtless but offhand utterances from Personality
Indeed the whole room is a sort of result and storage collection of my own past life.
I round and finish little, if anything; and could not consistently with my scheme.
"'Leaves of Grass' indeed (I cannot too often reiterate) has mainly been the outcropping of my own emotional
No one will get at my verses who insists upon viewing them as a literary performance, or as aiming mainly
Bent to the very earth, here preceding what follows, Terrified with myself that I have dared to open my
echoes re- coil recoil upon me, I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever united lands—my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more than
my lands are inevitably united, and made one identity, Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
the case, I examined the accounts given on this subject, by the four Evangelists, and according to my
scripture evidence for his being the son of Joseph than otherwise ; although it has not yet changed my
mighty bulwark, not easily removed, yet it has had this salutary effect, to deliver me from judging my
they were in the same belief with myself; neither would I dare to say, positively, that it would be my
how often has my poor soul been brought to this point, when temptations have arisen, 'Get thee behind
I have foreknown Clearly all things that should be; nothing done Comes sudden to my soul; and I must
Southey thus records his own birth:— "My birthday was Friday, 12th August, 1774; the time, half-past
According to my astrological friend Gilbert, it was a few minutes before the half hour, 161 pleasure.
There is an image in Kehama, drawn from my recollection of the devilish malignity which used sometimes
Meantime Madoc sleeps, and my lucre of-gain-compilation (specimens of English Poets) goes on at night
, when I am fairly obliged to lay history aside, because it perplexes me in my dreams.
justified in the profound contempt which they have entertained for the mass of historical works. ' Give me my
is as untenable as our own famous saying—"A little more grape, Captain Bragg!"
nature shrinking from thy rough embrace, Than summer, with her rustling robe of green, Cool blowing in my
delight; Even the saint that stands Tending the gate of heaven, involved in beams Of rarest glory, to my
No mesh of flowers is bound about my brow; From life's fair summer I am hastening now.
And as I sink my knee, Dimpling the beauty of thy bed of snow, Dowerless, I can but say, O, cast me not
I began to feel very much numbed with the cold, and my eyes suffered a good deal from the glare of the
I was now only able to take three steps at a time without stopping, as my legs began to give way, and
I attribute my being able to reach the top to my wind; I never felt want of breath at any time, while
M., with my hands cut to bits, my nails worn to the quick with holding on, I reached the hut and there
One of my eyes is completely 'bunged up,' the other just enables me to see to write this.
fond thoughts my soul beguiled;— It was herself!
I've set my heart upon nothing, you see; Hurrah! And so the world goes well with me.
I set my heart at first upon wealth; And bartered away my peace and health; But, ah!
I set my heart upon sounding fame; And, lo! I'm eclipsed by some upstart's And, ah!
And then I set my heart upon war. We gained some battles with eclat.
to one of his mystical treatises (De Cœlo et Inferno) he says:— "I was dining very late one day at my
London (this was in seventeen hundred and forty-three)—and was eating heartily.— When I was finishing my
That night the eyes of my inner man were opened, and enabled to look into heaven, the world of spirits
, and hell; and there I saw many persons of my acquaintance, some dead long before, and others recently
Instantly there was presented before my eyes a woman exactly resembling the women in that earth.— She
And still more strikingly Othello says: "Every puny whipster gets my sword: for why should honor outlive
In Captain Church's history of Philip's war, there are innumerable incidents for the painter.
Towards the close of the war, when Philip's followers were nearly all slain, and his ruin near, the captain
Tho generous old captain, touched by the picture of the chief's distress, allowed him to seize his gun
Olympian day at the Ritterhouse, when Whitman and Burroughs visited us together, I told Whitman of my
Whitman recited "John Anderson, my Jo, John."
my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My Captain does not answer; his lips are pale and still; My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
"I found this in my coat," he said. "I don't often put on this coat.
My names are Song, Love, Art. My poet, now unbar the door."
"Art's dead, Song cannot touch my hear, My once love's name I chant no more."
It puts me in mind of my visit to a church when I was a boy.
It was a Presbyterian church and the preacher was in a high box above my head.
"Then you are welcome to my home," Walt Whitman replied, giving him both his hands.
"I call it my war paralysis," said the poet.
"What's all this about, my boy?"
"Is it a patent of nobility, or is it an address from a lot of my young friends?"
My paralysis has made me so lame lately that I had to give up even my walks for health, let alone my
rambles in the country, and my constitution has suffered for exercise.
TO EASE MY DECLINING YEARS.
picture of Wilson Barrett, the English actor, having upon it, inscribed in bold sign-manual: "I place my
"Tell them," he said, "that in my mind I feel quite vigorous; but that in body I am well used up with
Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what it infers, as essentially the
"My 'Leaves of Grass,'" said the old gentleman, "I will publish as I wrote it, minor revisions excepted
I have known that Cleveland is a reader and admirer of my books, but I really don't know anything at
Did I ever tell you the caution my doctor gave me when I left Washington?
It will be the whole expression of the design which I had in my mind When I Began to Write.
Now, that is the way it has been with my book. It has been twenty-five years building.
My theory in making the book is to give A Recognition of All Elements compacted in one— e pluribus unum
"My poetry," continued Mr.
Many of my friends have no patience with my opinion on this matter.