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

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

The wretched features of ennuyés, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick

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

to his head—he strikes out with courageous arms—he urges him- self 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

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

I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the scaffold in Virginia; (I was at hand—silent

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

The cactus, guarded with thorns—the laurel-tree, with large white flowers; The range afar—the richness

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

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

emerge on the opposite bank—others are just entering the ford—while, Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white

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

bleeding to death, (he is shot in the 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

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

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 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

Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-blue. Behold a woman!

She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of the farm-house, The sun just shines on her old white

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

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

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

ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson ! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!

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

(A Reminiscence of 1864.) 1 WHO are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woolly-white

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

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

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

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 or black, all are deific, In each house

soiree, I heard what the run of poets were saying 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

Bring down those tossed arms, and let your white hair be; Here gape your smart grandsons . . . . their

The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morningglories, and white and

sunset . . . . the river between, Shadows . . aureola and mist . . light falling on roofs and gables of white

tea—Suppose you have March Lippincott's —Best thanks to you & dear J W W[allace] for Review, Black & White

away both of you)—W has gone over to Phila. to give word to Dr Thomas, the oculist & to take my aged white

I hope you have not been writing anything in praise of that old dead werewolf, Emperor William.

William D. O'Connor to Walt Whitman, 14 April 1888

O'Connor William D. O'Connor to Walt Whitman, 16 May 1888

Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, John Burroughs, and Richard Maurice Bucke, 7 April

April 5—A good letter lately from Rhys —Nothing further ab't O'Connor — Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy and Richard Maurice Bucke, 11 July 1887

Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to Talcott Williams, 11 August 1887

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, John Burroughs, and Richard Maurice Bucke, 30 August 1887

Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to William Carey, 28 September 1887

Walt Whitman to Talcott Williams, 8 August 1887

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy and Richard Maurice Bucke, 28 July 1887

yours with the $304 safely rec'd received by me this afternoon Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to Talcott Williams

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 5 May 1891

Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 16 March 1891

drank the whole bottle (except a little swig I insisted on Ed taking for going for it) had it in a big white

The little dinner book is being put in type— W W Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 7 July [1889

[WW also mentioned Arthur Stedman. ] Walt W Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, 17 January 1891