Читать книгу The Complete Works of Walt Whitman - Walt Whitman - Страница 380

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In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay,

On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor’d near the shore,

An old, dismasted, gray and batter’d ship, disabled, done,

After free voyages to all the seas of earth, haul’d up at last and

hawser’d tight,

Lies rusting, mouldering.