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Poem by Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 30. The Torch On my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen's group stands watching, Out on the lake that expands before them, others are spearing salmon, The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water, Bearing a torch ablaze at the prow. Walt Whitman Walt Whitman's other poems:
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