
I have had the good fortune to read your Poem "Leaves of Grass"—I have read nothing hitherto in which in a large sense I recognized my nationality—this Poem could not have been written but on the Soil of North America, nor by any other than one of her own new race of men—its surpassing worth to me is in its broad conception of our thought and action;—it forces our advance in these—in it we recognise ourselves—
It was a matter of little importance that Longfellow translated
for us the poetic thought of the German—or that Bryant continued his labours in the English School—or
that Poe produced his perfect Poem—these things
we had before—Carlyle also wrote before Emerson—but this is our own—I thank you for
it—I have not been able to procure a copy of it here, nor can I discover
whether it has been privately printed as I judge from the title—if not may I
ask you to designate to me where
it may be
procured.


