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Emerald Sea

You sea! I resign myself to you
I guess what you mean,
I behold from the beach your crooked 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 land,
cushion me soft, rock me billowy drowse,
dash me with amorous wet.

Walt Whitman, Song of Myself