Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
293. Joy, Shipmate, Joy!
J
(Pleas’d to my Soul at death I cry;)
Our life is closed—our life begins;
The long, long anchorage we leave,
The ship is clear at last—she leaps!
She swiftly courses from the shore;
Joy! shipmate—joy!