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  Dear Sir,

Inspired by a perusal of some of your leaves of grass, especially "Starting from Paumanok," "Song of the Open Road" & "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, I dashed off the enclosed Sonnet, which I take the liberty of send to you, the rather to gratify my own pride, than to expect that you will esteem such a faulty production to be an honour.

 

I hope you will not consider me to be taking a liberty, but merely to be paying a somewhat antiquated tribute (spontaneously) to the honour of a great genius.

Yours respectfully, W.J. Hensley "I dream'd a dream I saw a city invincible 
  to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth,
I dreamed that was the new city of friends."
 

However I think it better to leave it as it is—

To a Prophet.

Whitman, thy earnest cries have reached our shore, Thou prophet of the old, & new En-Masse: From world to world the glorious tidings pass, Of which down-trodden mortals scarce before Did dream, or if they did, with fire and gore Raised Hell on Earth by setting class 'gainst class; Thus crushing Freedom at her birth, alas! And ripping up the mother that her bore. But thou dost teach a common Brotherhood, The Present joins the Past, the East the West, And from their union spring a perfect brood, Bound by the sacred ties of Comradeship, To purify our Earth from Error's pest, Till her last Sun in waves eternal dip.