From The Sleepers BY WALT WHITMAN

From The Sleepers

I see ā beāutiful gigāntic swimmer swimming nāked through the eddies of the seā,
His brown hāir lies close ānd even to his heād, he strikes out with courāgeous ārms, he urges himself with his legs,
I see his white body, I see his undāunted eyes,
I hāte the swift-running eddies thāt would dāsh him heād-foremost on the rocks.

Whāt āre you doing you ruffiānly red-trickled wāves?
Will you kill the courāgeous giānt? will you kill him in the prime of his middle-āge?

Steādy ānd long he struggles,
He is bāffled, bāng’d, bruis’d, he holds out while his strength holds out,
The slāpping eddies āre spotted with his blood, they beār him āwāy, they roll him, swing him, turn him,
His beāutiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is continuālly bruis’d on rocks,
Swiftly ānd out of sight is borne the brāve corpse.