Library of Congress
from Notebook LC #80

Different objects which
The soul or spirit
Mercury—he must be
The mean and bandaged
Every soul has its own language
I said to my soul
The run of poets and
You have been told that
I cannot understand
whose sides are crowded
I will not descend
I am the poet of slaves
I am the poet of strength
With tremendous breath
I am the poet of reality
And I understand that
I am the poet of little
And that the pismire
I am the poet of Equality
Buoyed with tremendous
And the odor
I am the Poet
Have you supposed it
I am the poet of sin
I am the poet of women
Strength
One touch of a tug
They stand on each finger
Now I do not wonder
It talks for me with
I am given up by traitors
Pass as you will
The sepulchre
I follow (animals and birds)
These are the thoughts

Harry Ransom
Humanities Reseach
Center, University of
Texas at Austin
And to me each minute
The wild gander leads
You villain, Touch!

Duke University
Trent Collection
Myself to celebrate
I do not pretend
In the course
Taken soon out
My tongue can never
To be at all
Sweet flag
It is no miracle
After all is said
Light and air!
I know as well
Fables, traditions
There is no word
My soul spirit

University of
Virginia, Alderman
Library

I am a student
The spotted hawk salutes
If I could speak
A little sum laid aside
I subject all the teachings
I call back blunderers
Do I not prove myself
Whatever I say
Never fails
The [?] of us in men
My hand will not hurt
Cottonwood—mulberry
You there! impotent
Who know that I
I am become the poet
And nobody else am