Excerpt from Horace Traubel: His Life and Work
Well, dear Horace, here's the book at last. We talked of it often together. You, yourself paid for five of these books for five children, and you said you would write your name in them. You said, too, you were proud of your friends when one day a bunch of orders came in. So am I proud of them. The formal, eminent, lettered world may ignore this book as it ig nored you. But no matter. You, now away off there somewhere with Whitman, Bucke, Ingersoll, little vval lace, will understand that what sings in the heart cannot be formed into words. You will know now, as you knew the other day, that love, not words, the thing. Love that understands is self - sufiicient.
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