Horrible To Say, In A Manner I

I Always Knew In My Heart Walt Whitman's Mind To Be More Like My Own Than Any Other Man's Living.

And I Have Asked To Be Where No Storms Come, Where The Green Swell Is In The Havens Dumb, And Out Of The Swing Of The Sea.

O The Mind, Mind Has Mountains; Cliffs Of Fall Frightful, Sheer, No-man-fathomed. Hold Them Cheap May Who Ne'er Hung There. Nor Does Long Our Small Durance Deal With That Steep Or Deep.

I Do Not Write For The Public. You Are My Public And I Hope To Convert You.

I Am Surprised You Shd. Say Fancy And Aesthetic Tastes Have Led Me To My Present State Of Mind: These Wd. Be Better Satisfied In The Church Of England, For Bad Taste Is Always Meeting One In The Accessories Of Catholicism.