The Dismantled Ship

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from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY - by Walt Whitman.

  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.

 

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