HomeWalt WhitmanLeaves of Grass

Leaves of Grass

Joy, Shipmate, Joy!

  Joy, shipmate, Joy!
  (Pleas’d to my soul at death I cry,)
  Our life is closed, our life begins,
  The long, long anchorage we leave,
  The ship is clear at last, she leaps!
  She swiftly courses from the shore,
  Joy, shipmate, joy.

Next page →


← 282 page Leaves of Grass 284 page →
Pages:  281  282  283  284  285  286  287  288  289  290  291  292  293  294  295  296  297  298  299  300 
Overall 376 pages


© e-libr.com
feedback