Result of seven or eight stages and struggles extending through nearly thirty years, (as I nigh my threescore-and-ten I live largely on memory,) I look upon Leaves of Grass , now finish’d to the end of its opportunities and powers, as my definitive carte visite to the coming generations of the New World, 6 if I may assume to say so. That I have not gain’d the acceptance of my own time, but have fallen back on fond dreams of the future⁠—anticipations⁠—(“still lives the song, though Regnar dies”)⁠—That from a worldly and business point of view Leaves of Grass has been worse than a failure⁠—that public criticism on the book and myself as author of it yet shows mark’d anger and contempt more than anything else⁠—(“I find a solid line of enemies to you everywhere,”⁠—letter from W. S. K.