Simply enter the word you wish to find and the search engine will search for every instance of the word in the journals. For example: Fight. All instances of the use of the word fight will show up on the results page.
Using an asterisk (*) will increase the odds of finding the results you are seeking. For example: Fight*. The search results will display every instance of fight, fights, fighting, etc. More than one wildcard may be used. For example: *ricar*. This search will return most references to the Aricara tribe, including Ricara, Ricares, Aricaris, Ricaries, Ricaree, Ricareis, and Ricarra. Using a question mark (?) instead of an asterisk (*) will allow you to search for a single character. For example, r?n will find all instances of ran and run, but will not find rain or ruin.
Searches are not case sensitive. For example: george will come up with the same results as George.
Searching for a specific phrase may help narrow down the results. Rather long phrases are no problem. For example: "This white pudding we all esteem".
Because of the creative spellings used by the journalists, it may be necessary to try your search multiple times. For example: P?ro*. This search brings up numerous variant spellings of the French word pirogue, "a large dugout canoe or open boat." Searching for P?*r*og?* will bring up other variant spellings. Searching for canoe or boat also may be helpful.
| Entering in only one field | Searches |
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August 19, Whitman arrived in Boston and, over the next two months, oversaw the typesetting of the book
Everything about the book emphasized Whitman’s increasingly conservative stance, and many of the sexual
The session may have originally been intended to produce a frontispiece for the new edition, but the book
Ironically, on March 1, 1882, the District Attorney of Boston declared the book “obscene” and ordered
passages to be expurgated or the book would be forbidden from public sale.
August 19, Whitman arrived in Boston and, over the next two months, oversaw the typesetting of the book
Everything about the book emphasized Whitman’s increasingly conservative stance, and many of the sexual
The session may have originally been intended to produce a frontispiece for the new edition, but the book
Ironically, on March 1, 1882, the District Attorney of Boston declared the book “obscene” and ordered
passages to be expurgated or the book would be forbidden from public sale.
August 19, Whitman arrived in Boston and, over the next two months, oversaw the typesetting of the book
Everything about the book emphasized Whitman’s increasingly conservative stance, and many of the sexual
The session may have originally been intended to produce a frontispiece for the new edition, but the book
Ironically, on March 1, 1882, the District Attorney of Boston declared the book “obscene” and ordered
passages to be expurgated or the book would be forbidden from public sale.
August 19, Whitman arrived in Boston and, over the next two months, oversaw the typesetting of the book
Everything about the book emphasized Whitman’s increasingly conservative stance, and many of the sexual
The session may have originally been intended to produce a frontispiece for the new edition, but the book
Ironically, on March 1, 1882, the District Attorney of Boston declared the book “obscene” and ordered
passages to be expurgated or the book would be forbidden from public sale.
your illness—trust you are well again by this time, (as fore-indicated by H[erbert]'s last) —all H's books
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All
these sights on the earth, I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and prisoners
These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness? THOUGHT.
, throwing the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs, The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper
book-words! what are you?
In you whoe'er you are my book perusing, In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, All,
THE SINGER IN THE PRISON. 1 O sight of pity, shame and dole! O fearful thought—a convict soul.
RANG the refrain along the hall, the prison, Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, Pouring in
In one, along a suite of noble rooms, 'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine
with iron, Who am I too that I am not on trial or in prison?
labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself, Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison
Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses! Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased
O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this? Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us?
Camerado, this is no book, Who touches this touches a man, (Is it night?
I answered, I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, Waged in my book
Then falter not O book, fulfil fulfill your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my book
soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book
of causes, (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,) These recitatives for thee,—my book
Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee, As a wheel on its axis turns, this book
When I Read the Book. WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
WHEN I read the book, the biography famous, And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man's life
lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring, Forth from the war emerging, a book
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books
mill, The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter's lead flies swiftly over the note-book
, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold, The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper
Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the
drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books
I see all the menials of the earth, laboring, I see all the prisoners in the prisons, I see the defective
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride, beat up and down seeking to give
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute-books, now?
The shape of the prisoner's place in the court-room, and of him or her seated in the place, The shape
not what is printed, preach'd, discussed, it eludes discussion and print, It is not to be put in a book
, it is not in this book, It is for you whoever you are, it is no farther from you than your hearing
descends and goes instead of the carver that carved the supporting desk, When I can touch the body of books
book-words! what are you?
Who are you that wanted only a book to join you in your nonsense?
In you whoe'er you are my book perusing, In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, All,
a loud alarm and frequent advance and retreat, The infidel triumphs, or supposes he triumphs, The prison
me; Of their languages, governments, marriage, literature, products, games, wars, manners, crimes, prisons
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All
For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, Nor is it by reading it you
library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America, Nor literary success nor intellect, nor book
for the book-shelf, But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave, For comrades and lovers.
these sights on the earth, I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and prisoners
These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness?
, throwing the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs, The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper
I answered, I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, Waged in my book
Then falter not O book, fulfil fulfill your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too
soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books
For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, Nor is it by reading it you
library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America, Nor literary success nor intellect, nor book
for the book-shelf, But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave, For comrades and lovers.
WHEN I READ THE BOOK.
I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, A book separate, not link'd
All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, All
book-words! what are you?
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son
The Singer in the Prison. THE SINGER IN THE PRISON. 1 O sight of pity, shame and dole!
RANG the refrain along the hall, the prison, Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, Pouring in
seated, sear-faced murderers, wily counter- feiters counterfeiters , Gather'd to Sunday church in prison
While upon all, convicts and armed keepers ere they stirr'd, (Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded
Resumed, the large calm lady walks the narrow aisle, The wailing melody again, the singer in the prison
In one, along a suite of noble rooms, 'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine
YOU felons on trial in courts, You convicts in prison-cells, you sentenced assassins chain'd and handcuff'd
with iron, Who am I too that I am not on trial or in prison?
how uneasy they are when he moves away from them; Now I marvel what it can be he appears to them, (books
fleet, His voyage behold, his return, his great fame, His misfortunes, calumniators, behold him a prisoner
Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough?
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son
slave is one with the master's call, and the master salutes the slave, The felon steps forth from the prison
idiot or insane person appear on each of the stands; Let judges and criminals be transposed—let the prison-keepers
be put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys; Let them that distrust birth and death
labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself, Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison
Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses! Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased