Poem Walt Whitman

Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love!

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FAST-ANCHOR’D eternal O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of
you!
Then separate, as disembodied or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man,
O sharer of my roving life.
First O Songs for a Prelude
Fanices at Navesink

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