Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

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!

Previous Poem
In The New Garden In All The Parts
Next Poem
Leaves Of Grass. A Carol Of Harvest For 1867