 | Leaves of grass. (1861-1861) |  |
119.
You Sea! I resign myself to you also—I guess what you mean,I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers,
I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me;
We must have a turn together—I undress—hurry me out of sight of the land,
Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse,
Dash me with amorous wet—I can repay you.
| Leaves of grass. (1861-1861) | |