…from the quills of the dead white poets
Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)
When I read the book, the biography famous,
And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man’s life?
(As if any man really knew aught of my life,
When even I myself often think know little or nothing of my real life,
Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections
I seek for my own use to trace out here.)