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

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

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

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

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

Kennedy see notes Dec 19 1891 William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, [22 August 1891]

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 1 February 1891

W S Kennedy William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 20 September 1891

Kennedy William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 30 October 1891

WS Kennedy William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, [3] April 1891

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 4 July 1891

May 12 '91 see notes May 18 1891 William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 12 May 1891

W.S.K Frau & I have bad colds. see notes May 2d 1891 William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 1 May 1891

I wrote Idyl of the Lilac other day Tues paper p7 see notes May 22 1891 William Sloane Kennedy to Walt

Truly yours, Wm Robinson Wm Robinson (ask'g autograph) William Robinson to Walt Whitman, On or Before

McDowell The Enclosed letter settles many things ahead of elaborate publicity see notes Dec 14 1891 William

them. in the meantime I wish you many happy Birth Days , and you may believe me as ever your friend William

William H. Taylor to Walt Whitman, 15 June 1891

Wm Harrison Riley William H. Riley to Walt Whitman, 28 February 1891

W H Neidlinger see notes Dec 22 1891 William H. Neidlinger to Walt Whitman, 22 December 1891

Yours sincerely William Carey 5 December 1891 William Carey to Walt Whitman, 5 December 1891

I hope you will live to great many new years Yours sincerely William Carey 8 December 1891 William Carey

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

William Smith, of Yorkshire, England. Author of "Old Yorkshire," and other interesting works.

of me Heave the anchor short, Raise main-sail and jib—steer forth, for aye O little white-hull'd sloop

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

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

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

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

sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white

golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun; The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white

spasmic geyser- loops geyserloops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing, Nor Oregon's white

thy varied strange suggestions, (I see and plainly list thy talk and conference here,) Thy troops of white-maned

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

Raise main-sail and jib—steer forth, O little white-hull'd sloop, now speed on really deep waters, (I

(My verses, written first for forenoon life, and for the summer's, autumn's spread, I pass to snow-white

is, Let it remain back there on its nail suspended, With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white

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!

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