Two smaller projects have occupied me this spring, and this was the first, a study in cl-ASS-ic American literature.
This volume of Walt is just like the one I had when I first read Mr. Whitman, bound in grass-like green fibers.
That is, the book was bound in grass-like fibers. I was not.
I wrote my senior year history term paper on Whitman, and I used this gift volume, illustrated by Lewis Daniel, as my text.
Over the weeks of work, the volume fell to pieces.
And the paper was not great.
Perhaps because I would have populated it in this way.