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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

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

William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 20 January 1881

William White [New York: New York University Press, 1977], 1:220).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Rossetti's too have been to see us—we didn't think William in the best health or spirits—& his wife

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

William Rossetti is writing a hundred sonnets—writes one a day; one about John Brown is not bad: and

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

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

I turned, and there in the doorway she stood, her tall figure, with a white turban on her head, her figure

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

July and October, to be issued in September and October; and orders for these numbers may be sent to WILLIAM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing.

Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding

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

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

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

most novel and interesting long article in the number is Mrs Talbot's felicitous translation of Dr William

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

Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I gave them the same,