Here, Sailor
Walt Whitman
WHAT ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning?
Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the channel, a perfect
pilot needs?
Here, sailor! Here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot,
Whom, in a little boat, putting off, and rowing, I, hailing you,
offer.
Next 10 Poems
- Walt Whitman : Hours Continuing Long
- Walt Whitman : How Solemn As One By One
- Walt Whitman : Hush'd Be The Camps To-day
- Walt Whitman : I Am He That Aches With Amorous Love
- Walt Whitman : I Am He That Aches With Love
- Walt Whitman : I Dream'd In A Dream
- Walt Whitman : I Hear America Singing
- Walt Whitman : I Hear It Was Charged Against Me
- Walt Whitman : I Heard You, Solemn-sweep Pipes Of The Organ
- Walt Whitman : I Saw In Louisiana A Live Oak Growing
Previous 10 Poems
- Walt Whitman : Here The Frailest Leaves Of Me
- Walt Whitman : Hast Never Come To Thee An Hour
- Walt Whitman : Had I The Choice
- Walt Whitman : Great Are The Myths
- Walt Whitman : God
- Walt Whitman : Gliding Over All
- Walt Whitman : Give Me The Splendid, Silent Sun
- Walt Whitman : Germs
- Walt Whitman : Full Of Life, Now
- Walt Whitman : From Pent-up Aching Rivers
