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tea—Suppose you have March Lippincott's —Best thanks to you & dear J W W[allace] for Review, Black & White

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, [18 February 1891]

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 16 February 1891

I am, Yours truly, W T Stead William T. Stead to Walt Whitman, 16 February 1891

fully —is well—I see James Redpath is dead in NY—Y'r letter rec'd — Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William

In "The Colonel, at Home, in Sonoma County" (Overland, 17 [February, 1891], 200–208), Laura Lyon White

In "The Colonel, at Home, in Sonoma County," (Overland, 17 [February, 1891], 200–208), Laura Lyon White

—write often as convenient God bless you & Frau & my Boston friends— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 2:585.

times—head, gastric & bladder bad —wet & dark to-day—nights middling fair Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 1 February 1891

admiringly reads your writings, and who fancies she feels their spirit Sincerely Yours Laura Lyon White

Laura Lyon White to Walt Whitman, 29 January 1891

In Glasgow the Exhibition would be largely [William C. Angus] to Walt Whitman, 27 January 1891

Harry's parents, George and Susan Stafford, were tenant farmers at White Horse Farm near Kirkwood, New

We have had a magic ice-spectacle here—trees all candied. see | notes | Jan 20 | 1891 William Sloane

[WW also mentioned Arthur Stedman. ] Walt W Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 17 January 1891

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 13 January 1891

W.S.K. on cars Mon to 1891 | 13 | Jan | see notes William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 12 January

Review per t Whitman drew a line through this letter and wrote his January 20–21, 1891, letter to William

W.S.K. yr card just William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, [9 January 1891]

White Hall, Ky.

I remain yours truly Cassius Marcellus Clay Walt Whitman Esq. see | notes | April 1 st | 1891 White Hall

On the lower left Clay has written: "White Hall: | ky. | C. Clay."

Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William T. Stead, 6 January 1891

On the verso of the manuscript is a cancelled letter to Whitman from William S.

From time to time sanguinary collisions between blacks and whites occur, and the diminishing number of

the sons of Ham are seriously multiplying in the South, where in some districts they quite swamp the white

Nor have we anywhere in England a Town Hall nearly as magnificent as the huge pile of white marble, reared

Girard College is another magnificent building of white marble, in the Corinthian style, imitating the

imperious waves, Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine, Where joyous full of faith, spreading white

spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the

man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white

swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript

sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly along white

BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown

signs, I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad, I would sing how an old man, tall, with white

Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains

shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white

What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud!

Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See, from my dead lips

In the night, in solitude, tears, On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand, Tears

For shame old maniacs—bring down those toss'd arms, and let your white hair be, Here gape your great

buckle the straps carefully, Outdoors arming, indoors arming, the flash of the musket-barrels, The white

Then to the third—a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory; Young man

WHO are you dusky woman, so ancient hardly human, With your woolly-white and turban'd head, and bare

and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the

Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!

surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 3 In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd

wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, Passing the apple-tree blows of white

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, I saw the debris

The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and

at sunset, the river between, Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white

grave an ancient sorrowful mother, Once a queen, now lean and tatter'd seated on the ground, Her old white

cold ground with fore- head forehead between your knees, O you need not sit there veil'd in your old white

some are such beautiful animals, so lofty looking; Some are buff-color'd, some mottled, one has a white

A huge sob—a few bubbles—the white foam spirting up—and then the women gone, Sinking there while the

the unearthly cry, Its veins down the neck distend, its eyes roll till they show nothing but their whites

Off the word I have spoken I except not one—red, white, black, are all deific, In each house is the ovum

soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white

She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the farmhouse, The sun just shines on her old white

The cactus guarded with thorns, the laurel-tree with large white flowers, The range afar, the richness

NOT alone those camps of white, old comrades of the wars, When as order'd forward, after a long march

imperious waves, Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine, Where joyous full of faith, spreading white

spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the

the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes

I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider

man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white

swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript

sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly along white

BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown

and the bay of Biscay, The clear-sunn'd Mediterranean, and from one to another of its islands, The White

bay to notice the vessels arriving, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, Saw the white

pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot- houses pilot-houses , The white

pass up or down, white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!

where men have not yet sail'd, the farthest polar sea, ripply, crystalline, open, beyond the floes, White

tree tops, Below, the red cedar festoon'd with tylandria, the pines and cypresses growing out of the white

wind, The camp of Georgia wagoners just after dark, the supper-fires and the cooking and eating by whites

My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard, My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the

of the grape, Welcome are lands of sugar and rice, Welcome the cotton-lands, welcome those of the white

, the falling in line, the rise and fall of the arms forcing the water, The slender, spasmic, blue-white

murderer with haggard face and pinion'd arms, The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent and white-lipp'd

Behold, the sea itself, And on its limitless, heaving breast, the ships; See, where their white sails

venerable and innocent joys, Perennial hardy life of me with joys 'mid rain and many a summer sun, And the white

you. 4 The sum of all known reverence I add up in you whoever you are, The President is there in the White

All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it, (Did you think it was in the white or gray

bars of pig-iron, the strong clean-shaped T-rail for rail- roads railroads , Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works

signs, I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad, I would sing how an old man, tall, with white

Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains

shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white

What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud!