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by WALT WHITMAN
"Or si sa il nome, o per tristo o per buono,
E si sa pure al mondo ch'io ci sono."
—MICHELANGELO.
"That Angels are human forms, or men, I have seen a thousand times. I havealso frequently told them that men in the Christian world are in such grossignorance respecting Angels and Spirits as to suppose them to be mindswithout a form, or mere thoughts, of which they have no other idea than assomething ethereal possessing a vital principle. To the first or ultimateheaven also correspond the forms of man's body, called its members, organs,and viscera. Thus the corporeal part of man is that in which heavenultimately closes, and upon which, as on its base, it rests."—SWEDENBORG.
"Yes, truly, it is a great thing for a nation that it get an articulate
voice—that it produce a man who will speak forth melodiously what the
heart of it means."
—CARLYLE.
"Les efforts de vos ennemis contre vous, leurs cris, leur rage impuissante,et leurs petits succès, ne doivent pas vous effrayer; ce ne sont que deségratignures sur les épaules d'Hercule."—ROBESPIERRE.
DEAR SCOTT,—Among various gifts which I have received from you, tangibleand intangible, was a copy of the original quarto edition of Whitman'sLeaves of Grass, which you presented to me soon after its firstappearance in 1855. At a time when few people on this side of the Atlantichad looked into the book, and still fewer had found in it anything savematter for ridicule, you had appraised it, and seen that its value was realand great. A true poet and a strong thinker like yourself was indeed likelyto see that. I read the book eagerly, and perceived that its substantialityand power were still ahead of any eulogium with which it might have comecommended to me—and, in fact, ahead of most attempts that could be made atverbal definition of them.
Some years afterwards, getting to know our friend Swinburne, I found withmuch satisfaction that he also was an ardent (not of course a blind)admirer of Whitman. Satisfaction, and a degree almost of surprise; for hisintense sense of poetic refinement of form in his own works and hisexacting acuteness as a critic might have seemed likely to carry him awayfrom Whitman in sympathy at least, if not in actual latitude of perception.Those who find the American poet "utterly formless," "intolerably rough andfloundering," "destitute of the A B C of art," and the like, might notunprofitably ponder this very different estimate of him by the author ofAtalanta in Calydon.
May we hope that now, twelve years after the first appearance of Leaves ofGrass, the English reading public may be prepared for a selection ofWhitman's poems, and soon hereafter for a complete edition of them? I trustthis may prove to be the case. At any rate, it has been a greatgratification to me to be concerned in the experiment; and this is enhancedby my being enabled to associate with it your name, as that of an early andwell-qualified appreciator of Whitman, and no less as that of a dearfriend.
Yours affectionately,
W. M. ROSSETTI.
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