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The Whitman House: Final Resting Place (on a beautiful fall day!): I depart as air, I shake my white locks At the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it In lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love. If you want me again look […] […] […] As I was reading Chapter 15 of Reynold’s Walt Whitman’s America, I realized that he’s following me… or maybe I’m following him (rather unconsciously I’ll admit). During his Camden years, Whitman befriended the Stafford family, who owned a farm outside of Camden. This family still has living members today, all of whom live in or around […] […] |