Thursday, 28. August 2003
From Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman
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!
Big Book Of Poetry