Spoiler! :
The waves cut cross-ways, knocking me: no lullaby rocking is this. The sea: thick black - froth-topped. The wind makes the gulls wheel and cry to the cloud-stained sky, and I reel, no keel, tossing on the deep, sick sea. And no tip-top, stop-clock, fat-sailed, brass-railed, ship-shape ship am I: no sail at all, but tattered flags – rags. I am a ship cut loose, maples and mastless, captain and crewless, oar less and over-awed at the great expanse of ocean.
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