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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
pass up or down, white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud!
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and
Sister of loftiest gods, Alboni's self I hear.) 4 I hear those odes, symphonies, operas, I hear in the William
In calculating that decision, William O'Connor and Dr. Bucke are far more peremptory than I am.
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
The sun just shines on her old white head. Her ample gown is of cream-hued linen.
simplicity of his nature are revealed in the following incident: "In the middle of the room in its white
William Hurrell Mallock (1849-1923) was an English author.
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
spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the
pass up or down, white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud!
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and
Sister of loftiest gods, Alboni's self I hear.) 4 I hear those odes, symphonies, operas, I hear in the William
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
soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farmhouse, The sun just shines on her old white
, of original grandeur and elegance of design, with the masses of gay colour, the preponderance of white
and sunny temperament, a sight to draw near and look upon with her large figure, her profuse snow-white
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—it
Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-blue. Behold a woman!
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white
spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the imperious waves!
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and
Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-blue. Behold a woman!
Let the white person again tread the black person under his heel! (Say!
ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson ! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!
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—it
Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-blue. Behold a woman!
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and
pass up or down, white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud!
Let the white person tread the black person under his heel! (Say!
We, loose winrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See!
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—it
soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house; The sun just shines on her old white
again, this soil'd world. … For my enemy is dead—a man divine as myself is dead; I look where he lies, white-faced
and still in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the
Democratic" poem of the 1860 edition of eventually titled "Our Old Feuillage," in which Whitman writes of "White
T bluey spoon-drift, like a white race-horse of brine, speeds before me This section bears some resemblance
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the sun sh ining on the red white or brown gables
red, white or brown the ferry boat ever plying forever and ever over the river This passage was used
we had conquered— The captain on the quarter-deck, coldly giving his orders through a countenance white
Near by, the corpse of the child that served in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt, with long white
Let the white person tread the black person under his heel! (Say!
We, loose winrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See!
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and
you white or black owners of slaves! You owned persons, dropping sweat-drops or blood- drops!
pass up or down, white-sailed schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
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—it
soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white
you white or black owners of slaves! You owned persons dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops!
pass up or down, white-sailed schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and
Let the white person tread the black person under his heel! (Say!
William Good, Antwerp. ☞ Any communication by mail, for the author of Leaves of Grass, can be directed
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, all are deific, In each house is the
soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white
She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white
The young men float on their backs, their white bellies swell to the sun . . . . they do not ask who
I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags.
I see his white body . . . .
white- blow white-blow and delirious juice, Bridegroom-night of love working surely and softly into the
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morningglories, and white and
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 or black, all are deific, In each house
soiree, I heard what the run of poets were saying 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