Another,[317] which has aroused perhaps more misunderstanding than anything which Whitman wrote, is addressed to a prostitute. It hardly seems to call for explanation; for it is like the simple offering of the hand of friendship to an outcast; the assertion that for her, too, Whitman's living eternal comradeship is real and close, accompanied by the injunction that she be worthy of such friendship. He writes to rich givers[318] in the Franciscan spirit; for he that is willing to give all, is able to accept. To a pupil[319] he suggests that personality is the tool of all good work and usefulness. To be magnetic is to be great. Come then and first become yourself. But it is impossible even to refer in passing to all the separate poems, each one with its living suggestion. Some of the briefest are not the least pregnant. * * * * * The book closes with poems of departure. A dread falls upon him;[320] perhaps after all he may not linger, to go to and fro through the lands he loves, awakening comrades; presently his voice also will cease. But here and now at least his soul has appeared and been realised; and that in itself should be enough. Then he says his farewell. His words have been for his own era; and in every age, the race must find anew its own poets for its own words. But till America shall have absorbed his message, he must stand, and his influence, his spirit, must endure.[321] After all, he does but seek, with passionate longing, one worthier than himself, who yet shall take his place. For him, he has prepared. Now is he come to die. Without comprehending or questioning, he has obeyed his mystical commission; he has sown the Divine seed with which he was entrusted; he has given the message with which he was burdened, to women and to young men; now he passes on into the state for which all experience and service has been preparing him. He ceases to sing. His work is accomplished. Now disembodied and free, he can respond to all that love him, and enter upon the intenser Reality of the Unknown. Dear friend, whoever you are, here, take this kiss, I give it especially to you--Do not forget me, I feel like one who has done his work--I progress on, The unknown sphere, more real than I dreamed, more direct, darts awakening rays about me--_So long!_ Remember my words--I love you--I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.[322] FOOTNOTES: [265] _L. of G._, 18. [266] _L. of G._, 19. [267] _Ib._, 23. [268] _Ib._, 29; (1860), 22. [269] In this edition the old-fashioned, colloquial "you was" is retained. [270] _L. of G._, 138. [271] See _infra_, 289. [272] _L. of G._, 191. [273] _L. of G._, 374. [274] _L. of G._, 11; (1860), 181. [275] _Ib._, 300. [276] _Ib._, 299. [277] _L. of G._, 18. [278] _Ib._ (1860), 190. [279] _Ib._ (1860), 193. [280] _Ib._, 202. [281] _L. of G._ (1860), 198. [282] _L. of G._ (1860), 236.