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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

light-green sheath, Gather the hay to its myriad mows in the odorous tranquil barns, Oats to their bins, the white

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

Or white-domed capitol with majestic figure surmounted, or all the old high-spired cathedrals, That little

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

Winds blowsouth, 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

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

piercing 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

AFTER the sea-ship, after the whistling winds, After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Williams & Co. A. Williams to Walt Whitman, [1880]

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 213).

Davidge "All the Rage" combination William Davidge to Walt Whitman, 14 [December?] 1880

New York & to-day I receive from B the following postal: "Leavitt sold the plates to a Mr Williams (for

$200—Leavitt never saw or heard of any sheets —Worthington must have bo't bought the plates from Williams—He

Williams This letter from A. Williams has been crossed out.

Williams to Walt Whitman, 2 December 1880

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 1:212).

Richard talked about you with William M.

WHITE PINE TIMBER AND LUMBER TO ORDER. OFFICE, NO. 72 WALL STREET, NEW-YORK. GE, MEIGS & CO.

William White (New York: New York University Press, 1977) 1:209.

Williams & Company, 1 November 1880

[William Brough?] to Walt Whitman, 29 October 1880

I feel lonely in October since William Cullen Bryant died.

Thanks for the Journals which have reach'd reached me— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William Torrey Harris

Harry's parents, George (1827–1892) and Susan Stafford (1833–1910), were tenant farmers at White Horse

William White (New York: New York University Press, 1978), 1:35.

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

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

for a weeks pleasure has just returned a day or two ago she had a nice time George spent a day at Williams

William Rossetti and I were talking of it.

more— the Autograph "Behold this swarthy face, this unrefined face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white

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

William White (New York: New York University Press, 1978), 1:35.

Sent copy to the Senator, and there was a prompt responce response of the White Plume Plumed Knight,

about the same reason that the crows display in pecking to death one of their kind happening to have a white

If he had been ill-dressed and low-minded, it is hardly probable that the beloved poet, William Cullen

William Taylor to Walt Whitman, 9 June 1880

His hair is long and like his whiskers is of snowy whiteness.

His white shirt was cut in true sailor style, opening low down upon his breast, and with the collar rolled

The whole dress with the white flowing hair and whiskers were suggestive of a nature that one is afterwards