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Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Prose Works. 1892.

I. Specimen Days

157. A Civility Too Long Neglected

THE FOREGOING reminds me of something. As the individualities I would mainly portray have certainly been slighted by folks who make pictures, volumes, poems, out of them—as a faint testimonial of my own gratitude for many hours of peace and comfort in half-sickness, (and not by any means sure but they will somehow get wind of the compliment,) I hereby dedicate the last half of these Specimen Days to the

  • bees,
  • water-snakes,
  • black-birds,
  • crows,
  • dragon-flies,
  • millers,
  • pond-turtles,
  • mosquitoes,
  • mulleins, tansy, peppermint,
  • butterflies,
  • moths (great and little, some splendid fellows,)
  • wasps and hornets,
  • cat birds (and all other birds,)
  • glow-worms, (swarming millions of them indescribably strange and beautiful at night over the pond and creek,)
  • cedars,
  • tulip-trees (and all other trees,)
  • and to the spots and memories of those days, and of the creek.