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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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OLD SALT KOSSABONE.
Far back, related on my mother's side, |
Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died: |
(Had been a sailor all his life—was nearly 90—lived with his
married grandchild, Jenny;
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House on a hill, with view of bay at hand, and distant cape, and
stretch to open sea;)
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The last of afternoons, the evening hours, for many a year his
regular custom,
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In his great arm chair by the window seated, |
(Sometimes, indeed, through half the day,) |
Watching the coming, going of the vessels, he mutters to himself
—And now the close of all:
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One struggling outbound brig, one day, baffled for long—cross-
tides and much wrong going,
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At last at nightfall strikes the breeze aright, her whole luck veer-
ing,
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And swiftly bending round the cape, the darkness proudly enter-
ing, cleaving, as he watches,
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"She's free—she's on her destination"—these the last words—
when Jenny came, he sat there dead,
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Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my mother's side, far
back.
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