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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 shrieking

WHO are you dusky woman, so ancient hardly human, With your woolly-white and turban'd head, and bare

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

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

Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!

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

By the time he became acquainted with Whitman's poetry through William Rossetti's British edition of

It was facilitated by Whitman's friends, probably under the aegis of William D.

The translators were an unlikely team—Thomas William Rolleston (1857–1920) was an Irish nationalist and

He is also a prominent translator of American dramatists (among them Williams, Miller, and Wilder).

And four voices under the high white hats reply: "Et c'est bon!" . . .

William Diggs. Wm. J. Cunningham. Fletcher W. Dickerman. Ezra M. Frost. Harry Coburn.

hieroglyphic,And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,Growing among black folks as among white

the publication of the 1860 through his Civil War hospital work, during Reconstruction when first William

Amy Williams was descended from a sea-faring family: Louisa's maternal grandfather John Williams and

Like Walt, she may have "internalized typical white racial attitudes of his time, place, and class,"

She weighed the merits of William D.

Selected and Edited by William Michael Rossetti (London: Hotten, 1868).

shirt-collar flat and broad, countenance of swarthy transparent red, beard short and well mottled with white

He does not separate the learned from the unlearned, the Northerner from the Southerner, the white from

Bucke and Milton Hindus; and William Douglas O'Connor.

These letters shed particular light on Whitman's relationship with William Michael Rossetti, the Gilchrist

The collection also includes correspondence with her children and Whitman's 1869 letter to Michael William

Literary correspondents include John Burroughs, William Sloane Kennedy, Bernard O'Dowd, Richard Maurice

Bucke, Thomas Biggs Harned, Horace Traubel, Henry Bryan Binns, Mary Mapes Dodge, William Dean Howells

, William Douglass O'Connor, and John Addington Symonds.

The Liverpool Central Library; William Brown St.; Liverpool, L38EW; England

Other correspondents include Anne Burrows Gilchrist, Thomas Biggs Harned, William Sloane Kennedy, James

Johnston, William Douglas O'Connor, and Horace and Anne Montgomerie Traubel.; This catalog includes item-level

He first read Whitman's poetry in William M.

his vulgar and profane hoofs among the delicate flowers which bloom there, and soiling the spotless 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

tree itself; everybody knows that the cedar is a healthy, cheap, democratic wood, streaked red and white—an

express surprise that his collection of reviews included even a particularly harsh moral attack by William

New York: New York UP, 1925.Trimble, William.

Its first editor was William Coleman, who served until 1829, when the reins were passed to William Cullen

TedWidmerLeggett, William L. (1801–1839)Leggett, William L. (1801–1839) William Leggett, poet and journalist

"William Leggett." United States Magazine and Democratic Review 6 (1839): 17–28. Leggett, William.

A Collection of the Political Writings of William Leggett. Ed. Theodore Sedgwick, Jr.

White. Indianapolis: Liberty, 1984. Meyers, Marvin.

Leggett, William L. (1801–1839)

Founded in 1636 by Roger Williams, who wished to acknowledge divine assistance in his forced relocation

& smart, but too constrained & bookish for a free old hawk like me" (61).BibliographyMcLoughlin, William

New York: New York, 1961.Woodward, William, and Edward F. Sanderson.

William Rossetti's attempt to Bowdlerize and expurgate his song.

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

a fine house across the way from Hospt No 3, where the Surgn Steward and women stop it has a large white

Very faithfully yours, Will Williams. P.S.

magazine in question will contain contributions by well-known English and American authors. from Will Williams

Will Williams to Walt Whitman, 31 May 1875

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

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