Separate We Come, And Separate

Whitman Had A Profound Influence On Me. That Was During My Sophomore Year When I Came Down With A Bad Attack Of Whitmanitis. But He Did Me A Lot Of Good, And I Think The Influence Is Discoverable.

It Is Precisely The Sort Of Thing I Am Always Trying To Do In My Writing -- To Present My Unhappy Reader With A Wide-ranged Chaos -- Of Actions And Reactions, Thoughts, Memories And Feelings -- In The Vain Hope That At The End He Will See That The Whole Thing Represents Only One Moment, One Feeling, One Person. A Raging, Trumpeting Jungle Of Associations, And Then I Announce At The End Of It, With A Gesture Of Despair, "this Is I!

The Hiss Was Now Becoming A Roar - The Whole World Was A Vast Moving Screen Of Snow - But Even Now It Said Peace, It Said Remoteness, It Said Cold, It Said Sleep.

All Lovely Things Will Have An Ending, All Lovely Things Will Fade And Die; And Youth, That's Now So Bravely Spending, Will Beg A Penny By And By.

I'm Not In The Least Southern; I'm Entirely New England.