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Books by Whitman



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OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN, THE CROWD.

1

OUT of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently
to me,
Whispering, I love you, before long I die,
I have travelled a long way, merely to look on you, to touch
you,
For I could not die till I once look'd on you,
For I fear'd I might afterwards lose you.




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2

(Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe;
Return in peace to the ocean, my love;
I too am part of that ocean, my love—we are not so
much separated;
Behold the great rondure—the cohesion of all, how per-
fect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate
us,
As for an hour, carrying us diverse—yet cannot carry
us diverse for ever;
Be not impatient—a little space—Know you, I salute
the air, the ocean, and the land,
Every day, at sundown, for your dear sake, my love.)


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