O Lord, help me to be pure, but not yet.
Ship Starting, The.
by Walt Whitman
LO! the unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails—an ample Ship,
carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately—below,
emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions, and foam.