Читать книгу The Complete Works of Walt Whitman - Walt Whitman - Страница 321

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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.