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

WORLD take good notice, silver stars fading, Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching, Coals thirty-eight

and seeds, the thick tangle, openings, and pink turf, Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 20 January 1881

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

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

He wears a great cape overcoat of soft gray cloth, which falls below the knees, and a broad-brimmed white

felt hat almost as wide as the strong shoulders, over w hich a wild growth of white hair and beard blown

Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woolly-white and turbaned head, and bare

and pealing, Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing, Out in the shadows there, milk-white

wending, Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, Along the midnight edge, by those milk-white

William Hurrell Mallock (1849-1923) was an English author.

Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 25 February [1881]

poems &c. as my Christmas offering —with affectionate remembrances— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William

good roads—one young lady I fell in with near where I was living had a team of her own, two handsome white

bride groom—I think him a lucky man— Well I must close at once, for here comes a fine lively team of white

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1978] 1:244).

William D. O'Connor of Washington, Life Saving Service Bureau to write for you?

William White (New York: New York University Press, 1978), 1:272.

typographical show of my poems—how they shall show (negatively as well as absolutely) on the black & white

Whitman sent Leaves of Grass and Two Rivulets on the same day; see William White, "Unrecorded Whitman

been staying alone here in the house, as the folks have gone off on summer trip—My sister is at the White

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1978], 1:235).

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 224).

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 224).

His ruddy features were almost concealed by his white hair and beard.

William White (New York: New York University Press, 1978), 1:237.

Spring; Benjamin Doty, of same place; in West Hills, Lemuel Carll, John Chichester, Miss Jane Rome, William

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

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

of light, the March-wind blows upon the Wicklow hills; Blows from over the blue Channel, making the white

like a dream again— And again the same hills and rocks, again the Sky, again the blue Channel with white

—I am, sir, William Rolleston. thrown into a panic of such proceedings.

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

His ruddy features were almost concealed by his white hair and beard.

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

For myself I can safely say that except William Rolleston no reader or student of your poetry has studied

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

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

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

setting in toward land, The great steady wind from west or west-by-south, Floating so buoyant with milk-white

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

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

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

The wretched features of ennuyés, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray

and even to his head, he strikes out with courageous arms, he urges himself with his legs, I see his white

meas- ureless measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with measureless love, The white

hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter, The breath of the boy goes with the breath

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

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

He was a heart's ease growing in the shadow: the leaves are turning white from want of sun!

, I was refresh'd by the storm, I watch'd with joy the threatening maws of the waves, I mark'd the white

light-green sheath, Gather the hay to its myriad mows in the odorous tranquil barns, Oats to their bins, the 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, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the

Sister of loftiest gods, Alboni's self I hear.) 4 I hear those odes, symphonies, operas, I hear in the William

We are glad to find the old poet in good health, and although his hair is white his heart seems to be