LO! THE unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails--an ample
Ship, carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately--
below, emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions, and foam.
More verses by Walt Whitman
- Now List To My Morning's Romanza
- The Mystic Trumpeter
- One Sweeps By
- France, The 18th Year Of These States
- There Was A Child Went Forth