Читать книгу The Complete Works of Walt Whitman - Walt Whitman - Страница 330

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I stand as on some mighty eagle’s beak,

Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing, (nothing but sea and sky,)

The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance,

The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps — that inbound urge and urge

of waves,

Seeking the shores forever.