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Old Salt Kossabone


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Overwritten brown with strikethrough
Added inline purple with double underline
Uncertain gray with wavy underline
Supplied from another source turquoise with brackets
Metamark green with triple underline
Long deletion gray background with top and bottom border
  [begin leaf 1 recto] Personal follow copy strictly

Old Salt Kossabone.

Far back, related on my mother's side, Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died; (Had been a sailor all his life—was nearly 90—  
 lived with his married grandchild Jenny,
House on a hill with view of bay at hand, and  
 distant cape, and stretch to open sea;)
The last of afternoons, the evening hours, for many  
 a year his regular custom,
In his great ^arm‑chair by the front window seated,  
 (sometimes indeed through half the day,)
Watching the coming, going of the vessels, he  
  ^mutters to himself—And now the close of all:
One struggling ^out‑bound brig one day baffled for long—  
 cross-tides and much wrong‑going.
At last at night-fall strikes the breeze aright,  
 her whole luck veering,
And swiftly out on around ^bending round the cape, the darkness  
 proudly entering, cleaving, as he watches,
"She's free—she's on her course destination"—these his the last  
 words—when Jenny came, he sat there dead;
Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my  
 mother's side, far back.
Walt Whitman
  [begin leaf 1 verso] Walt Whitman's Autograph & written lines by him: given me by W. W.—in America in 18[88] —Ellen Terry
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