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