Walt Whitman Poems

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TWO boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waiting—they discover a thick school of mossbonkers—they drop the
join’d seine-ends in the water,
The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the beach, enclosing the
mossbonkers,
The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore,
Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deep in the water,
pois’d
on strong legs,
The boats partly drawn up, the water slapping against them,
Strew’d on the sand in heaps and windrows, well out from the water, the
green-back’d
spotted mossbonkers.

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