To Brooklyn Bridge
How many dawns, chill from his rippling
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our
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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
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Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me!
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