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Walt Whitman - To The Man-of-War-B
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THOU who hast slept all night upon the storm,
Waking renew`d on thy prodigious pinions,
(Burst the wild storm? above it thou ascended`st,
And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,)
Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating,
As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee,
(Myself a speck, a point on the world`s floating vast.)

Far, far at sea,
After the night`s fierce drifts have strewn the shores with wrecks,
With re-appearing day as now so happy and serene,                  


The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun,
The limpid spread of air cerulean,
Thou also re-appearest.

Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane,
Thou ship of air that never furl`st thy sails,
Days, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating,
At dusk that look`st on Senegal, at morn America,
That sport`st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud,
In them, in thy experience, had`st thou my soul,                   


What joys! what joys were thine!
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