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The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and

sun- set sunset —the river between, Shadows, aureola and mist, light falling on roofs and gables of white

In the night, in solitude, tears; On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand; Tears—not

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

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

night, and withdraws at the peep of the day, with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white

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

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 fast

I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run- away runaway sun; I effuse my flesh in eddies, and

beauty of person; The shape of his head, the richness and breadth of his manners, 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 so cunning in tendon and nerve; They shall be stript

hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears lightly along white

BEHOLD this swarthy face, this unrefined face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon

of their churches—I hear the responsive base and soprano; I hear the wail of utter despair of the white-hair'd

and from one to an- other another of its islands, The inland fresh-tasted seas of North America, The White

The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and

sun- set sunset —the river between, Shadows, aureola and mist, light falling on roofs and gables of white

those of the grape; Welcome are lands of sugar and rice; Welcome the cotton-lands—welcome those of the white

fire-trumpets, the falling in line, the rise and fall of the arms forcing the water, The slender, spasmic blue-white

with hag- gard haggard face and pinion'd arms, The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent and white-lipp'd

bay to notice the arriving ships, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, Saw the white

serpentine pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses, The white

pass up or down, white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!

Bring down those toss'd arms, and let your white hair be; Here gape your great grand-sons—their wives

beauty of person; The shape of his head, the richness and breadth of his manners, 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 so cunning in tendon and nerve; They shall be stript

hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears lightly along white

BEHOLD this swarthy face, this unrefined face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon

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!

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—it

soiree, I heard what the singers were singing so long, Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white

She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, 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

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

the stumpy bars of pig-iron, the strong, clean-shaped T-rail for railroads; Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works

In the night, in solitude, tears; On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand; Tears—not

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

little islands, larger ad- joining adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white

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

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

I am more than eighty years of age—my hair, too, is pure white—I am the most venerable mother; How clear

Let the white person tread the black person under his heel! (Say!

Or white-domed Capitol itself, with magestic majestic figure sur- mounted surmounted —or all the old

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

The wretched features of ennuyés, the white fea- tures features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards

sweet eating and drinking, Laps life-swelling yolks—laps ear of rose-corn, milky and just ripen'd; The white

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

his arms with 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

We, loose winrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See!

accoutrements—they buckle the straps carefully; Outdoors arming—indoors arming—the flash of the musket-barrels; The white

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

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

Fast as she can she hurries—something ominous— her steps trembling; She does not tarry to smooth her white

the single figure to me, Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and farms, Sickly white

(he is shot in the ab- domen abdomen ;) I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white

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

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

of the rifle balls; I see the shells exploding, leaving small white clouds— I hear the great shells shrieking

NOT alone our camps of white, O soldiers, When, as order'd forward, after a long march, Footsore and

grave, an ancient sorrowful mother, Once a queen—now lean and tatter'd, seated on the ground, Her old white

on the cold ground, with forehead between your knees; O you need not sit there, veil'd in your old white

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

3 In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac bush,

wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising; 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

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; I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the

I remember, as I passed the White House with him one evening, the startled feeling with which I saw a

Open this other book of his, "William Shakespeare," a book with only one grave fault, the omission of

Harlan would consider Walt Whitman white as purity beside him.

Sick and wounded, officers and privates, the black soldiers as well as the white, the teamsters, the

William Douglas O'Connor's "The Good Gray Poet" first appeared as a free-standing pamphlet (New York:

Richard Grant White has but paid just sympathy to a true poet "Swinburne"; The criticism is a "Poem,"

Drum-Taps written by John Burroughs and a review of Algernon Charles Swinburne's work by Richard Grant White

Richard Grant White (1822–1885) was a prominent Shakespeare scholar and journalist from New York.

Richard Grant White has but paid just sympathy to a true poet "Swinburne"; The criticism is a "Poem,"

Drum-Taps written by John Burroughs and a review of Algernon Charles Swinburne's work by Richard Grant White

as noted: Elizabeth Lorang Nima Najafi Kianfar Kevin McMullen John Schwaninger Henry Stanbery to William

William Swinton is here in Washington, temporarily. He is interested in speculating in gold.

She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house; The sun just shines on her old 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; I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the

During this period he was on familiar terms of acquaintance with William Cullen Bryant, and the two were

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 I bend Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in

Pleasants to William A. Dart, 25 October 1866