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My days I sing, and lands Lands —with interstice I knew of hapless war War .
Inflating my throat—you, divine average!
Open mouth of my , uttering gladness, Eyes of my , seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully
My other item relates to one of whose merits as an author opinions differ widely.
"My days I sing, and the lands, with interstice I knew of hapless war.
I loafe and invite my Soul, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzzed whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine
, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs
The sound of the belched words of my voice, words loosed to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses
Our poet goes on to say (105): I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or
O truth of things, I am determined to press my way toward you; Sound your voice!
I exclude you; Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my
to be found in these prurient pages and how any respectable House could publish the volume is beyond my
They look at me, and my eyes start out of my head; they speak to me, and I yell with de- light delight
; they touch me, and the flesh crawls off my bones.
heaven, it bears me beyond the stars, I tread upon the air, I sail upon the ether, I spread myself my
O my soul! O your soul, which is no better than my soul, and no worse, but just the same!
O my eye! 1247. These things are not in Webster's Dictionary— Unabridged, Pictorial.
death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed new- washed babe, and am not contained between my
hat and my boots.
I know perfectly well my own egotism.
strong in the knees, and of an inquiring and communicative disposi- tion disposition Also instructive in my
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my body.'
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far swooping elbowed earth!
What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side to look in the mirror with me."
I lie in the night air in my red shirt… the pervading hush is for my sake.
We close with him: the yards entangled… the masts touched: My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain— `We have not struck,' he composedly cried
"What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side and look in the mirror with me."
"I am the teacher of Athletes; He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of
my own; He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher; The boy I love, the same
He rejoices to feel that he is "not stuck up and is in his [my] place," for "The moth and the fish eggs
How perfect is my soul! How perfect the earth and the minutest thing upon it!
Oh, my soul! If I realize you I have satisfaction. Laws of the earth and air!
I cannot tell how my ankles bend . . . . nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the
To walk up my stoop is unaccountable . . . . I pause to consider if it really be.
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes
Speech is the twin of my vision . . . . it is unequal to measure itself.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
As every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful; but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and how I was
conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
I loafe, and invite my soul; I lean and loafe at my ease— Observing a spear of Summer grass."
I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the eldest
brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers…and the women my sisters and
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
is as big to me as any, Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed earth!
darkness , Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking…preparations to pass to the one we had conquered, The captain
Good-bye, my fancy: 2 d annex to "Leaves of grass." D. McKay. por. 8º, $1.
Review of Good-bye My Fancy
Good By My Fancy . 2d Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. (Philadelphia: David McKay.).
Review of Good-Bye My Fancy
We mean Walt Whitman's "Good-bye my Fancy."
rhythmical prejudices, will hold its own with "Crossing the Bar," or the epilogue to "Asolando": Good-bye my
going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, So good-bye my
—now separation—Good-bye my Fancy.
my Fancy. C . Review of Good-bye My Fancy
coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac.
There are passages in the lines entitled 'Captain, My Captain,' and in the war-lyric commencing 'Beat
Here it is copied from [the] volume before us:— O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain! my Captain!
Leave you not the little spot, 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 spot my Captain lies, Compare with this, for poetic or pathetic feeling
Whatever may be said for the genius that created the peculiar style of (and, for my part, I think a great
Yet it would be wrong not to correct my criticism about Whitman's style by pointing out that there are
not Walt Whitman, might have written this: I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun; I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it
Emerson in the printed letter sent to us—"I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion
You traitor to my dead father—robber of his children!—scoundrel!—wretch! Whitman cut "—scoundrel!
"Why are you crying, my little son?" said he.
"My brother is sick," answered the child. "I have no father. He is dead."
"What is your name, my poor boy?" he asked. "Adam Covert," said the child.
Some of my readers may, perhaps, think that he ought to have been hung at the time of his crime.
greatest and profoundest truths are often most plain to the senses of men—in the same resemblance, my
The scene of the meeting was the school house; and having no other means of employing my time, I determined
"You are whimsical, my dear," said the matron, as she took the paper; "why do you desire so needless
"My son," she cried, in uncontrollable agony; "my son! you die!"
Whitman reused this sentence and the preceding one, beginning "My son," with minor revisions, in " The
.; Whitman reused this sentence and the preceding one, beginning "My son," with minor revisions, in "
Dear Friend I once promised to write you & as often as convient So far I have fullfulled my part.
Since my joineing My Regiment It has been nothing but marching & fighting the Johnnys.
The reason of my leaveing was because I could not see to ride or walk.
often as possible Even if it is pencil marks I hope that this may find you enjoying good health Give my
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
This was not any of my own luck but to accompany the newly married set was all I was on the Company.
I have received only this letter Oct 7th & one writen to My Father of which both reached me the same
But this one I have neglected on account of my being a way from home so long.
not tell of my being hit there.
My health is very good at present Also the same I wish to you My best wishes gose with this to you Yours
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
is one reason why I had rather be sent to the Regiment I would not stay around this City the rest of my
My best wishes are with you for indeed I have found a Friend at last to the poor Soldier I will close
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
I had an auction yestarday yesterday 4 of March to sell my Personally personal troperty property as I
told you in my other letter I have rented my farm of 35 acers acres for 5 years I would like to see
Why can not you com come & see my family I have a wife & littel little Girl 5 years old this month When
the house I felt proud of it myself I will have to get a frame for it and hang it up on the wall Walt my
We move about half a mile from this place my Post office will be the same (address) your in hast haste
My wishes are that this may find you enjoying good health and plenty of kind friends to associate with
close by expecting to have a better opportunity of writing some thing else when you hear from me again My
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
Kind Uncle & Friend Yours came to me on Friday last much sooner than I expected Because my being so negligent
I have been thinking about going there this winter to wile a way some of these lonesome days My Folks
have some objections to my going where I have been so often for the last three years.
Well Uncle I hope this may find you still alive & well My best respects To you, My Uncle Adieu till next
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
Boys in Armory where you were But they could not tell Now Uncle if you will (not) Answer this after My
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
S So I concluded to find out by dropping a few lines to you I hope my Dear Uncle that nothing has befallen
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
Aug 20, 1875 Aug 16 th 1875 Dear Uncle Walt I received your Postal Card. but I was away to work when my
will say that we are well as common I am going to California in November if the Lord will permit that my
I cross the long Bridge but if I can not get a chance, I hope you will write whenever convient Give my
On March 5, 1875, Farwell, who owned a farm in Michigan, wrote: "Walt my dear old Friend how I would
A.MS. draft.loc.00088xxx.00236Returning to my pages' front oncebetween 1871 and 1876poetryhandwritten1
Returning to my pages' front once
(Returning to my pages' front once more, resuming all, Songs, sorrows, tragedies, with stalwart joys—O
A glance look —a flashing token of my‑ myself self—to future time.
Returning to my pages' front once
pri.00035xxx.00808[Returned from my four months]1879–1882prose1 leafhandwritten; A short note in which
[Returned from my four months]
that will become the envy of the world.Whitman sees these productive fields as "the true arenas of my
O earth that hast no voice, confide to me a voice, O harvest of my lands—O boundless summer growths,
you dread accruing army, O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea, with your fever, O my
Nor do I forget you Departed, Nor in winter or summer my lost ones, But most in the open air as now when
my soul is rapt and at peace, like pleasing phantoms, Your memories rising glide silently by me. 6 I
All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me, I see the true arenas of my race, or first or last,
O earth that hast no voice, confide to me a voice, O harvest of my lands—O boundless summer growths,
you dread accruing army, O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea, with your fever, O my
Nor do I forget you Departed, Nor in winter or summer my lost ones, But most in the open air as now when
my soul is rapt and at peace, like pleasing phantoms, Your memories rising glide silently by me. 6 I
All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me, I see the true arenas of my race, or first or last,
Captain George W.
Captain Whitman, leaving the Rappahannock with his regiment in February, 1863, now went round with them
many, that a shell, whose explosion had killed two of his company and seriously hurt a third, struck Captain
Petersburg (Virginia, June 9 and June 15–18, 1864) were Confederate victories. and down the Weldon road, Captain
.; Captain George W.
beginning he announces, "Let me bring this to this a close," and later he mocks, "Let him who is without my
and let one line of my poems contra- dict contradict another!
tain-high mountain-high ; Brazen effrontery, scheming, rolling like ocean's waves around and upon you, O my
my lands!
Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!
and let one line of my poems contra- dict contradict another!
Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!
against him and his ancesters ancestors , though I guess he has forgot it all now, anyhow give him my
Captain Respegius Edward Lindell worked for the Camden ferries (Specimen Days, ed.
Captain Charles W. Walton was a member of the Fifty-first Regiment, New York State Volunteers.