Walt Whitman

When I read the Book

WHEN I read the book, the biography famous, And is this, then, (said I,) what the author calls a man’s life? And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life? (As if any man really knew aught of my life; Why, even I myself, I often think, know little or nothing of my real life; Only a few hints—a few diffused, faint clues and indirections, I seek, for my own use, to trace out here.)

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